Treasures
by BellaMonte
Summary: AU - Gossip ran through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins possessed a great fortune in the depths of his home. Several ruffians attempt to seize that fortune by kidnapping his beloved nephew and holding him for ransom.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Treasures  
Author: BellaMonte  
E-Mail:  
Summary: Gossip ran through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins harbored a great fortune in the depths of his home. A few villains attempt to obtain that fortune by kidnapping his beloved nephew and holding him for ransom.  
Rating: R for later violence and cursing.  
Disclaimer: Not mine, and a good thing indeed.  
Genre: Angst/Suspense  
Notes: Just as a warning, if any of the characters seem thwarted in the first few chapters, Bilbo in particular, let me promise you now that I'm not trying to be mean or portray a character in a negative light. It is deliberate only for the sake of the plot and hopefully it will make the story seem more interesting. I always wondered about Bilbo being the sole millionaire in the Shire, and the threats there might have been in being so. Plus it seemed like a good angst story. So I hope everyone enjoys!

"Which one is he?" the gruff voice asked.  
  
"He's the dark, curly haired one." 

Pulling back the thick branch to peer out behind the tree, the man lifted a small telescope to his small, beady eye to observe the little hobbit more closely. The Halfling was engaged with another in a wrestling match on the hill outside Bag End. The other looked a little younger, with blonde curls and had a grin on his face as he continued to tickle the dark haired one under him. Focusing closer on the second hobbit, the man's eyes grew dark and threatening. That was the Halfling they were looking for.  
  
"You see him now?" the shrill voice asked, impatiently.  
  
"Aye, I do," he replied, putting his telescope back into his sack. "He's scrawny as a newborn hen."  
  
"Indeed, he's a weakling and a burden to whomever is stuck with him, sir. He won't be missed much, they say his parents drowned at the sight of him and his relatives hated him at Brandy Hall –"  
  
"I don't give a damn about the little imp's history, Halfling. Is that the Uncle who has all the riches?"  
  
"It is. Bilbo Baggins is his name and he's mad, sheer mad. There's no doubt he harbors a fortune somewhere. But that lad's the only one he cares enough to pay for."  
  
Bilbo Baggins laid his pen quill down for the thirteenth time that morning, his agitation doubling to realize he'd been concentrating on counting the number than working. He stared down at the unfinished sketch of Smaug with dismay; he had completed the head and the detailed structure of the dragon's body, but he had barely started the tail, the feet, and the surrounding treasure. He had hoped to have the sketch completely finished and copied by luncheon. Now it was nearing elevenses and he was nowhere near that point.  
  
Sighing audibly, Bilbo got up from his desk to stretch, arching his neck backwards and letting out a long, frustrated yawn. Oh, how he wished the day wasn't so hot! Seated in his study, the coolest room in Bag End, the damp haze that hung in the air outside still managed to drift into the room, and the oppressive heat had followed. Perhaps it was the discomforting weather and the slight headache that was forming, which caused him to feel so inattentive to his work.  
  
"Merry, grab the frog!"

"I can't, it's too slimy!"  
  
"Look, there's another one, see? Here, use this net to catch it."  
  
"Quick, hand it over, it's ready to hop into the pond again!"  
  
"Oh, rats! It's under the water. I'm not going through that muck to get it!"  
  
The lively, cheerful voices of his nephews, Frodo and Merry, carried through the open windows of Bag End, breaking the desired silence of the room.

_Distracting me from my work, _a part of him thought, bitterly.

Immediately Bilbo cursed himself for such a thought. How could he dare blame the lads for disturbing him, when they sounded like they were having so much fun, and he was sitting in a stuffy study alone, contemplating how many times he had lain his pen quill down instead of finishing his work. If nothing else, he should be outside right now serving them lemonade and cakes minding they didn't wrestled themselves into the pond instead of spending the day in his study. The idea of cool lemonade and smoking his pipe in the shade of his garden quickly became an enticing one, yet the reminder of his unfinished work quickly pulled his mind away from the thought of rest.  
  
He didn't know exactly what it was, but he had become irritated and distracted from his book lately. There had been a time when the height of his day was the evenings when he sat and read, or wrote for hours on end. Closing his eyes, he could just capture the cracking of the burning wood in the fireplace, and himself seated in his desk scribbling madly away in recounting the adventures he had taken with Gandalf and the dwarves. It was the greatest of comforts to be able to re-live such memories, which had become dearer to him in the years after. His return home, while joyous in being by his hearth and amongst his friends once again, was accompanying by a plague of curious, suspicious neighbors. He knew there had been gossip running about him, which he did not give much care to, with the exception being loneliness. Relations and friends he still had, yet they were very few in number who looked to him without amusement. It had driven him to retreat to his book, where he could once again travel through the forests of Mirkwood and wander by the streams of Rivendell.  
  
Gandalf visited him every so often, the two of them reminiscing the good times of the past so long before, and trading stories. Gandalf found the greatest amusement in recent happenings in the Shire, and Bilbo was ever curious of news from the world beyond. It was always a delight when he came calling. The old wizard was a lasting link to the days before. And as the years passed, several of his younger cousins grew very fond of him for his story-telling despite their parent's cautioning that he was merely mad.

Frodo had always been Bilbo's favorite. The lad was the son of Drogo and Primula Baggins, two of the few hobbits Bilbo had considered true, trusting friends. Their death had felt like a loss of limb Bilbo, even as the recalled the memory now he felt tightness in his throat. After their deaths, Bilbo had grown all the more attached to the young orphan, visiting him at Brandy Hall as often as he could. Frodo in turn clung to him for companionship, always eager to hear of the lands Bilbo had journeyed to, and delighting when he visited. It had seemed natural for Bilbo to adopt the lad and bring him to live here in Bag End, especially when his trips to Brandy Hall convinced him Frodo was not receiving the happy bringing up he deserved.  
  
He remembered Frodo's face, his mouth open but words hanging unsaid, his large blue eyes, the same color and beauty of his mothers, widening in joy when Bilbo had offered him the chance to come live with him at his home. 

A rush of guilt went through Bilbo in recalling how little attention he'd actually been paying the lad lately. There was no doubt in his mind that he loved Frodo. His little nephew had become dearer to him than any other hobbit he'd known. Yet bringing Frodo to live with him had hindered the completion of his book and left him with little time to himself, time he used to treasure so, while having to look after the lad and keep him entertain. He enjoyed Frodo's company always, yet occasionally missed the days when he had been alone. So many times he had considered leaving the Shire behind for another trip, but Frodo was there now, and no such plans could be taken. The nights when he would sit in front of the fire, lost in a book or penning away at the latest chapter of his book were disrupted often by Frodo's presence, even if he was silently reading himself or taking a nap on the couch.  
  
It was the simple state of change that bothered him so, and Bilbo realized suddenly it was Frodo who unintentionally had torn him from his former state. More often than not, Bilbo's attention would wander from his work to take the lad on a fishing trip, or visiting Buckland, as they had a few weeks before. Even when he was not busy with the lad his thoughts would often stray to him, a habit that had sometimes grown annoying when he knew he had work to be done.  
  
A cool feeling of guilt swept over him again, and he pressed a palm to his mildly aching head. Rising from his chair, Bilbo walked down the hall towards the front door. This was silly, there should be no tear within him on what duty was more important; documenting his journey or the hobbit he had vowed to take care of.

"Uncle Bilbo!" Frodo cried, his face brightening at the sight of his uncle coming outside.  
  
"There you are, my lad," Bilbo said, smiling warmly as the lad raced over to him, throwing his arms around his uncle's broad chest.  
  
"Where have you been all day?" he asked, looking up with bright, shining blue eyes.  
  
"Oh, just sketching some," he replied, ruffling the boys hair.  
  
"So what have you two been up to this afternoon?" he asked. Leading him down the hill towards the pond, he spotted Merry crouched down on the edge of the water, his face turned parallel to the edge, scanning the surface.  
  
"Let it go, Merry," Frodo called in exasperation. "I'm sure the frog has already swum away by now, or he's hiding under another rock."

Merry groaned, lifting himself from the ground. It was then Bilbo noticed the net clutched in Merry's hands, determination fixed on his face. At seeing his uncle, he grinned.  
  
"How goes it, Uncle? We're hunting for strange creatures from the south that might have wandered into the Shire."  
  
Bilbo laughed, heartily. "I'm glad you two have been keeping yourselves busy. Have you got anything besides the old bullfrog that made its home here earlier than I did?"  
  
"No, but we found this though!" Frodo said excitedly. Running over to a bag, he dug through it for a moment before pulling out a pouch.  
  
"What's this?" the older hobbit inquired.  
  
"Open it," Frodo encouraged, extending his hand. "Merry and I found it in the meadows this morning. I've never seen a butterfly like it before. Merry thinks it came from Mirkwood, perhaps."  
  
Lifting the pouch open slightly, Bilbo frowned to see a small butterfly with green and midnight blue wings inside. It wasn't dead, though the delicate thing seemed to have been in the pouch most of the afternoon. As Bilbo lifted it on his finger before watching it fly away, he observed the awkwardness of its flapping wings, evidence of the mistreatment in which it had been handled.  
  
Sighing a little harsher than intended, he fixed his nephew with a disappointed frown.

"Oh, Frodo, you know not to imprison another creature! It's cruel, you know it. Even one as small as a butterfly."  
  
The boy's face contorted at the reprimand, and he lowered his head slightly. "I'm sorry uncle. We didn't mean to hurt it, we just wanted to show it to you before it got away. We would have shown you earlier, but you've been inside most of the morning -" The anxiousness in Frodo's tone and the shame that shone in the lad's eyes melted Bilbo's mild irritation immediately. He hadn't meant to scold the lad so, and quickly placed his hand on his shoulder to reassure him he wasn't mad.  
  
"It's fine, Frodo, I didn't mean it harshly. It's just that such creatures are delicate. It's harmful to handle them. And look! It flies free, there's no harm done."  
  
"So what about it, Uncle Bilbo?" Merry asked, approaching them with the net in his hands. "Is that a butterfly you recognize?"  
  
Bilbo smiled, eager to change the subject. "Indeed it is, Meriadoc. It's a rare breed that enjoys an environment near water. The name's escaped me at the moment, but I'm sure that one did come from far away to take a stop at our pond. It's unlike to come so far as Mirkwood, though, I'd hardly think a butterfly could brave the Misty Mountains." "Was that a resting place in your adventure?" Merry asked with a suggestive grin. 

Bilbo had to laugh at the cunning of his other nephew. Merry was a sharp lad, just as Frodo was, but was far more audacious. He wondered whether the butterfly had been a deliberate attempt to get him to tell a story relating to it, and warmed at the cleverness of his two nephews. "Tell us some more," Merry pressed.  
  
"Another time, Merry," Bilbo promised. As he glanced at Frodo, he was bothered to see a trace of distress in his face. In an attempt to relieve him he gave his curl hair a ruffle, glad to see the corners of his mouth perk up. "Besides, you've heard them all already, I'll likely bore you with another telling."  
  
"But Merry hasn't heard it all the way through," Frodo pointed out, expectantly.  
  
Bilbo sighed and realized he'd love more than anything to sit down with the two of them right now. He would seat them before him and engross them both with the tale Frodo loved so of when the eagles had saved he and the dwarves from certain death and flew them over forest and hills, the world spread like a carpet for Bilbo to see. But elevenses had to be prepared, and he felt a nagging tug to go back and finish up the sketch.  
  
Promising them a story later that evening, he went inside and set back to work at his desk.  
  
As Bilbo headed inside, Frodo and Merry stood for a moment in silence. "You think he's really mad still?" Merry asked, edgily. Frodo answered with a mild shrug.

"I don't think so. He didn't seem mad. Just disappointed, I guess."  
  
Merry shrugged as well. "Oh well. He said don't hurt any animals. So I guess you'll have to entertain yourself by fighting me once more," he suggested, kicking his cousin's feet out from under him.

Frodo laughed, grabbing a hold of his attacker's ankle and yanking him down as well. Their laughter was heard at a faint distance by the pair of observers studying them intently. Eventually, the two hobbits grew tired of dragging each other down to the ground, and gave up. Catching their breath, they lay parallel to each other, watching the cloudy sky above them.  
  
Merry yawned after a few moments. "I'm grown bored. Feeling the same, Frodo?"  
  
"I suppose so." Frodo folded his arms behind his head and continued to stare up at the sky.  
  
"Well, what's to be done then? We could always hunt that frog down once more. Bother what Bilbo says about it not being from Mirkwood. I'm sure elevenses will be ready soon too."  
  
"You can, I'm not really hungry. I usually miss elevenses or second breakfast."  
  
"You never did manage to swallow five meals a day," Merry teased.

When his cousin didn't answer, Merry rolled onto his stomach, propping himself on his elbows, and observed the visibly troubled look in Frodo's wandering gaze.  
  
"What's wrong, cousin?"  
  
Frodo glanced at him for a second, taking his eyes away from wandering at the clouds overhead. He quickly smiled and shook his head, a few curls falling into his face.  
  
"No, really," Merry said, pressing. "What's wrong?"  
  
"It's nothing Merry. You're getting curious over nothing."

Merry shook his head, unbelieving. "Oh come now Frodo, I've known you all my life, you can't keep something from me. It's just that bothered look you have now that you had when Aunt Peony gave me a pipe for a present and gave you an ugly scarf."  
  
Frodo would have laughed if he knew it would've thrown Merry off the subject. Sighing, he rolled onto his stomach and began picking at little blades of grass, attempting instead to distract his cousin from pressing him.  
  
"Is something wrong with Uncle Bilbo? You got really anxious when he told you not to grab at the butterfly."  
  
"It's not that, Merry. Or . . .it's not _only _that," Frodo admitted, continuing to pick at the grass in front of him. "He's been . . .well, not yelling at me lately. But he seems bothered at whatever I do."  
  
"It's better than the treatment of sitting in a corner for an hour at Brandy Hall, remember that?" Merry pointed out, jokingly. Frodo smiled, mildly.

"It's nothing, Merry, truly. I don't know why I'm even worried about it. I mean, I'm so happy Uncle Bilbo adopted me. And the Gamgees are really nice, they're the family next door. They've invited me over a lot. And Bilbo's taken me on some trips and he's helping me in my studies, and I've missed being taken care of like that for so long –" Frodo's voice quieted, and Merry watched closely as his cousin's eyes began to wander again, staring off into space as though the answer was somewhere within his range of sight. Merry scolded himself for not questioning him earlier. He'd sensed tension between Frodo and Bilbo since he arrived, but didn't consider it ran deeper than that just that. "Are you unhappy here?" Merry asked, uncertainly. "You haven't seemed yourself since I got here."  
  
Frodo shrugged, slowly. "Uncle Bilbo has been acting - well, not like himself either. At least not how I know him. Sometimes it feels like he's avoiding me, and I – I don't know what I did wrong. He just keeps to his study, with his books and his writing. It's as though," Frodo paused for a moment, swallowing tightly. When he spoke again, his voice was so quiet, it was barely audible. "It as though he doesn't want me around. At least not the way he did before he adopted me."  
  
Merry listened intently his cousin's worries. "But Frodo," he said, lightly, "Bilbo's always been a rather odd hobbit, you know that. While some hobbits dedicate themselves to their work or the good times at the festivals, he's made it his life's work to write his book. Perhaps he's just been working extra hard so he'll have more to tell you later. I hardly think it's anything against you, he'd never have adopted you at all if he didn't mean to keep you!" 

Frodo gnawed on his lip, his hands picking fretfully at the grass. "It just. . ." he stopped to expel a breath of sad frustration. "It just feels though – sometimes, only sometimes, not usually. It feels though that he just doesn't want me around at all. . .anymore," he admitted, quietly. "He gets really annoyed sometimes when I come into a room to sit with him. I try not to make too much noise when I know he's trying to concentrate. He won't say anything, but it'll almost feel like there's tension in the air. I'm afraid I'm making a nuisance of myself, like I was with everybody at Brandy Hall. Sometimes I think he doesn't want me here at all, and he might send me back there soon."  
  
Merry was preparing to give his older cousin a comfort hug when he abruptly halted at hearing the last words. The dread in his voice was evident, and although Merry knew Frodo couldn't have meant those words in the light that he was beginning to take him, anger stirred within him inherent in his Brandybuck blood.

"I'm still there," Merry said, his voice chilly. "I know you like it here, Frodo, but would going back to Brandy Hall be so bad? I'm there, and so are Fulco and Fredegar and your other friends."  
  
Frodo turned to his cousin to apologize, reassuring him that of course there were things about Brandy Hall he missed, but not before Merry caught the expression of grief and discomfort that swept across his face first. It hit Merry with a pang.  
  
"Of course I miss you, and I'm so glad you came here from the Smials to visit," Frodo said, smiling truthfully. "It's just things haven't been right here in a few weeks. I'm sure it'll pass, as you said. And if they don't, well. . .well Brandy Hall was my home for so many years, I suppose it would be a comfort to go back." Frodo's last few words were spoken so softly that Merry almost laughed bitterly at how bad of a liar Frodo could be sometimes. He didn't want to admit how angry he suddenly felt that Frodo didn't desire returning, if only for the sake of his company.  
  
"Right, Frodo. I understand," he muttered and ended it at that. A drop of rain suddenly fell from the sky, followed by a few more that landed upon them. "You know, I should be heading to the Smials," he said, pushing himself up from the ground.  
  
Frodo looked startled at his sudden declaration, and began to get up himself. "But Merry, it's nearly supper time, and I thought you were staying here for the night!"  
  
"I'd better not, if Bilbo's as mean as you say he's been," Merry said, trying to quell the bitterness that stood in his voice. "And if we're still going to explore Hobbiton together tomorrow, then I'd better get a good night's sleep tonight. This part of the Shire is bigger than I'd expected," he added with a quick smile, before starting down the path.

It was only after he'd gone that Frodo realized with an uncomfortable turn in his stomach that he'd offended Merry in what he'd said about fearing going back to Brandy Hall. By the time it came to him, however, Merry was already at the end of the path at the bottom of hill.  
  
Frodo sighed as he felt more raindrops fall on his head. He suddenly felt very tired and he let his chin dip into his chest, closing his eyes. _Foolish Baggins_ he said to himself. It was the nickname his Uncle Rorimac had given him when he'd moved to Brandy Hall. He had been such a frail, curious creature apparently, that Uncle Rorimac playfully suggested he would always be getting into trouble, just he wait and see. The name came back to him now as he listened to the rain beginning to patter on the back of his vest. As he turned to go inside, he hoped that the rain would not allow Bilbo to see the tears making similar tracks down his face, if Bilbo even greeted him at the door at all.  
  
The two men and third pair of eyes continued to watch through the blinding rain as the little hobbit went inside.  
  
"I still don't understand why we can't break in and ransack the place and be off with the gold that way," grumbled the dark haired man.  
  
The hobbit shook his head vehemently back and forth. "No, no, sir. That's not a guarantee for fortune I'm afraid. You see, there are secret passageways all through Bag End, and Baggins carries a sword, he does, and he's apparently very good at using it too. He also has smaller holes in the Shire as well, so there's the chance, you see, that his treasure isn't buried there at all. The fool could have hid it anywhere."  
  
The younger, light haired man turned and frowned suspiciously on the small figure that stood before him, wringing his hands. "You're a hobbit yourself," he stated, bitter irony in his voice. "Why turn against your own race, why gain assistance from men?"  
  
The hobbit fidgeted and his wide eyes stared forward, as though attempting to work out something he could not understand or admit._ Coward_ the man thought grimly. Not that he minded, he was pleased to get such an easy job, and with such a fortune as his compensation.  
  
"Just do it soon," the hobbit said, fervently. He continued wringing his hands as though the action would rid him of his own part to play. "Hobbits get nervous when there's men sighted in the Shire."  
  
"We'll wait till he's alone," replied the darker haired man. He continued smoking from a pipe clenched in his teeth, and from his bag he began winding up a heavy length of rope.

He continued to look down at the hobbit, the menace in his eyes never waning. "You say he's always taking walks alone in uninhabited areas. If that's true then it won't be hard to find him."

"And you're sure he'll pay?" threatened the other man, grasping the hobbit by the collar or his shirt.  
  
"Yes, yes," the hobbit panted, struggling within the man's grasp. "I've heard Baggins praise the lad myself, even before he brought him to Bag End, and since then he treats him like his own son, a little prince. He'd pay his life for the little brat, so he'd definitely pay riches as well. "

TBC


	2. Kidnapped

Title: Treasures  
Author: BellaMonte  
Summary: Gossip ran through the shire that Bilbo Baggins harbored a great fortune in the depths of his home. A few villains attempt to obtain that fortune by kidnapping his nephew, Frodo Baggins.  
Rating: PG-13 (I moved it down a notch) for violence and mild cursing  
Disclaimer: Not mine  
  
Frodo lay in bed reading that night. It was pouring violently outside, the sound resonating as a muffled patter from Frodo's window. The sound was calming to his ears. He was still a troubled over the slight conflict with Bilbo that afternoon, but his uncle hadn't even mentioned it at dinner, and again Frodo felt angry with himself for getting so worked up for nothing. The soft drumming of the rain was thankfully soothing his nerves, and he rested back against his pillow, finally feeling his worries drifting away. It was Bilbo who had always told him it was never a clever idea to think too much before bed time. It was best to empty your mind, to allow dreams entrance.  
  
Frodo smiled wistfully at the memory. He loved listening to the rain, and he loved the silence that channeled it even better. As a child he had shared a room with some of his younger cousins, and had often been forced to fall asleep with their brazen chatter echoing in his ears.  
  
The memory reminded him, as many things had in the past few weeks, how happy he was Bilbo had invited him to live here at Bag End. Small things, such as having his own room, given the liberty to wander the gardens, paths and hills himself, and being able to fall asleep with only the sound of the rain, were all little treasures that greeted Frodo when he arrived at Bag End. He shouldn't forget these wonderful things. If Bilbo had other things on his mind than he, that was no excuse for him to complain. His uncle had already given him so much.  
  
A sharp gust of wind blew past the glass, followed by another stream of rain drops on the outside sill. It reminded Frodo of a somber song he had once heard somewhere.

As he continued to listen, his eyes slowly began to droop, and he yawned in turn. Leaning over the edge of his bed, he placed his book on a little table and blew out the candle that rested there. Then he curled down into the soft covers and pulled the quilt up his chin. He smiled as he allowed the warmth of his covers, the patter of the rain, and the comfort of the moment to lure him into a peaceful sleep.  
  
Frodo awoke the next morning to little rays of sunshine playing upon his face. Squinting, he put his hand out to block out the rays and sat up to observe the beautiful morning through his window. The sky was a bright blue, and the sun was shining over the green rolling hills and meadows. Excitement flared in his chest, he wished he could rush outside that very instant, through the open window if he had to, and run off into the distance to places he'd only dreamed of. He eagerly shifted out of bed to get dressed. It would be an excellent day for exploring with Merry.   
  
The smell of bacon and fresh fruit drifted past him as he opened the door to his room. He instantly began walking down the hall in the direction of the delicious scents. As he passed down the hallway, he glanced briefly into each room he passed. Library. Study. Dining room. Den. There were so many rooms and hallways in Bag End that Frodo had nearly gotten lost on one occasion when he was very little. Bag End was not only the most beautiful hole he had ever been in, but it was the most decorative as well. He ran his hands over the cherry oak paneling of the walls, and his feet stepped upon the finely laid out stone that ran into the kitchen. It still astonished him how large and grand Bag End was, and how it was lived in solely by Bilbo.  
  
"Good morning, Uncle," he greeted, brightly, as he entered the kitchen.  
  
The older hobbit turned from his place at the counter. "Good morning, Frodo! Why not sit down, I've got breakfast nearly ready."

Frodo sat himself down at the opposite table. From the looks of the soiled smock Bilbo wore and every fruit, vegetable and meat available strewn on the kitchen table, his uncle had been busy for some time preparing a meal that resembled a feast more than breakfast.  
  
"Sleep well last night through the storm?" Bilbo asked, leaning over the fire to remove the kettle.

"Oh, I didn't even know there was one!" Frodo said with a light laugh.  
  
His uncle smiled, absently. Carefully he held the kettle in his hands, pouring the hot water into two cups on the table. "Then I can safely say you had a good night's sleep."   
  
"Were you awake during the storm?" Frodo asked, circling his fingers round the cup Bilbo had readied for him.  
  
"I was," he replied, his voice distant as he continued to scramble to do three things at once. One he finished pouring the water and dropping a batch of tea in Frodo's cup he hastened back to the hearth and re-filled the kettle. "The rain was pretty heavy and there were some pretty flashes of lightening I saw from the study."   
  
Frodo nodded, watching his uncle inquisitively. Bilbo had begun hurriedly chopping a pile of celery and carrots and then rushing over to the other side of the kitchen to slice some tomatoes to add to the stirring pot. "May I help with anything?" Frodo asked, feeling terribly rude for not asking before. He didn't want Bilbo to think he couldn't be of some use. "I can chop vegetables if you want."  
  
With his back still turned to his nephew, Bilbo shook his head with a frown. "No thank you, my boy. I've got everything arranged. I just need to get this stew over the fire and the meats prepared before luncheon. You go on and have your breakfast. I hope you don't mind I didn't lay out much."  
  
"That's all right," Frodo said, placing a few strips of bacon on his plate. He wasn't feeling especially hungry anyway.  
  
A simple "that's good" was all the reply Frodo got before Bilbo went back to chopping up the rest of the carrots. Slicing a small apple, Frodo ate silently at the table, occasionally glancing over to see his uncle in a rush of preparing what looked like three courses all at once. He had already roasted a ham and was now in the process of placing it on a dish covered with lettuce for decoration, while stirring the stew and cutting open a melon, most likely for a fruit salad.  
  
As Frodo watched he couldn't help but feel discouraged that Bilbo was too busy to even share a conversation. He had hoped they could talk during breakfast, and Frodo would be able to relieve himself of the worry that was already coming upon him again. Instead, the morning was making him feel a little bit worse. He continued munching on the apple, feeling terribly out of place.  
  
After a few minutes, Frodo heard Bilbo let out a breath of relief as though he had accomplished everything he could for the moment. At long last he turned back to Frodo, brushing his hands off on his ruddy smock.   
  
"So," he said in a voice as though the conversation had never ended, "What are your plans for today?"

"Merry wants to go exploring around Hobbiton. I thought I would take him to the little stream where Mr. Gamgee lets us fish." He didn't mention that he had already told Bilbo his plans for tomorrow at least twice at dinner last night.  
  
"That's a splendid idea," Bilbo replied, leaning over the table to grab the salt and the pepper bottles. "I want you to see more of the neighborhood around here. I know that Hamfast has taken you and his boys out fishing or walking sometimes. . ." his voice drifted off as he began flicking salt into the stew.  
  
"Would you like to come with us?" Frodo couldn't help asking. Eagerness shone in his eyes. "I would really love it if you could show me the hillsides. I know you're very busy, but –"

A bitter smile erupted in Bilbo's face and Frodo was taken aback, hoping he hadn't bothered Bilbo with his inquiry. "I can't, I'm expecting some company this afternoon, Frodo. The Sackville-Bagginses, some distant neighbors of mine, have decided to invite themselves over for the day," he said, coldly.  
  
Frodo's heart swelled at the news. Relatives of Bilbo's, and his too, were coming to visit!

"Oh Bilbo, can I stay here then, too? I've never met them before!" It was true, and he hadn't made many friends in Hobbiton yet, except for the Gamgees, particularly Sam. It would be so pleasant to meet relatives from his Baggins side.  
  
Bilbo laughed grimly at the request, stilling Frodo's excitement. "Ah, my dear boy, I don't think that's such a good idea."  
  
"But why?" Frodo asked, saddened to think that his uncle didn't want him to meet his own relatives. A rather stinging idea dawned on him. _Oh no, does he think I'll embarrass him or something? Does he just not want me there?  
_  
"Frodo, believe me when I say that you'll have much more fun out with Merry today," Bilbo defended, crouching down to gather something from below the table. "I'm not on the friendliest terms with Lobelia and Otho, and I have some matters to discuss with them that I don't want you to have to hear."  
  
"Why is that?"

Bilbo was preparing to tell him the truth something when, pausing to catch the confusion intermingled with distress in Frodo's eyes, he exhaled in frustration. In truth, he didn't know exactly how to describe the Sackville-Bagginses to his young nephew without using language inappropriate to the common tongue.  
  
"Just don't worry about it," he began to say, while turning to face Frodo as he stirred in the pot over the hearth. As he did so his hand reached down a little too deep into the bowl, and his fingers grazed the heated pot. "Blast!" he nearly shrieked, stamping his foot and clutching his hand, following the first yell with several inaudible curses. His nephew rushed to his side, despite being shaken by Bilbo's refusal to see his relatives.  
  
"Here Uncle, let me help." Anxiously Frodo began rummaging through a small drawer and brought out a small cloth, which he dampened and then helped place on Bilbo's hand. "Does it hurt?" he asked, looking up with concern. Bilbo gritted his teeth against the stinging pain of the burn. He groaned out loud at his own foolishness.  
  
"I'm fine, Frodo" he said, though Frodo saw his face twist in obvious pain.  
  
"Well, how else can I help? Can I bring some of these dishes to the dining room or something?"  
  
Bilbo sighed, gritting his teeth against the pain. Oh, this was an unpleasant start to the day. He couldn't believe he'd been foolish enough to agree to allow Lobelia and Otho to come for tea, and it wasn't helping his agitation that he had just scorched himself mildly in the pot. Frodo's desperate attempts to please him unnecessarily weren't helped to ease his frustration either.

When Bilbo did not respond to Frodo's question, but pressed his uninjured hand to his aching forehead instead, the younger hobbit took it as a sign that he would not mind bringing some of the dishes into the next room. Eager to help his uncle, Frodo gently lifted a large crystal dish decked with strawberries. Bilbo caught sight of his nephew handling the heavy dish, and called out, "Frodo! No!" It was a terribly heavy thing.  
  
The abruptness of his uncle's voice startled the lad, and turning, he slipped upon some of the stew that had been flicked out when his uncle had burned his hand. He fell backwards and landing painfully on his side. The crystal dish slipped out of his arms and shattered upon impact on the cold stone floor.

There was a moment of stunned silence as Frodo stared down in horror at the precious crystal he had just destroyed, and Bilbo fought to keep the genuine anger out of his face. The crystal had been an heirloom of his grandmothers, passing down ages of tradition when that dish had been used for various special occasions. It was now a scattered mess of fragments, sparkling individually as the sun hit their remains.   
  
"I'm sorry, uncle, I'm sorry!" the little hobbit cried, daring to look up at his uncle with frantic eyes.   
  
"Never mind, Frodo, just get off the floor so you don't hurt yourself," he said in exasperation. The younger hobbit carefully stood up, and moved away from where pieces lay.  
  
Bilbo rubbed his forehead again in frustration, turning to grab a small brush to use to pick up the smaller pieces.  
  
"Uncle I'm so sorry, please," the young, guilty voice of his nephew began, but suddenly he couldn't stand to hear it.  
  
"Just - just sit down, Frodo," Bilbo said, shortly. Frodo sat down obediently and made no noise, but watched painfully as Bilbo cleaned up the broken shards.  
  
The older hobbit groaned as he stood up. "I'm sure there will be little bits of glass here and there, too small to pick up, and we'll feel them on the bottoms of our feet," he said, dumping the remaining shards into a cloth bag used for waste. He meant what he'd said as words of caution, yet it resonated as a further testament of anger to the young tweenager.  
  
"I'm sorry, uncle, I just wanted to help," Frodo said, quietly. All the eagerness had vanquished from his voice, and he kept his head dutifully lowered to the ground.  
  
"Didn't you say you had to meet Merry before second breakfast?" Bilbo asked, wiping his hands with a cloth.  
  
The dark, curly haired head nodded, and he got up without saying anything more. Bilbo listened to the quiet patter of Frodo's feet as he paced down the hall then the soft opening and closing of the door. For a moment he stood in steaming exasperation before realizing his mistake at scolding Frodo once again. He wasn't really angry, he'd just been in such a fluster all morning having to prepare for the Sackville-Baggins coming, hardly looking forward to their meeting. He'd seen the disappointment in Frodo's eyes when he'd told him he couldn't take him out today, but it could not be helped.

Lobelia and Otho were coming to discuss the matter of Bilbo's heir. Less than a week after adopting Frodo and bringing him to live at Bag End, he'd receiving a biting letter from Lobelia warning him not to dare divert the inheritance from their son, Lotho, to a Brandybuck brat, as she referred to Frodo. Bilbo hadn't intended to shove Frodo out the door, but he wanted to prevent him from coming in contact with his repulsive relatives as long as possible. He was going to inform them today that he was leaving Frodo his inheritance, and no other. For that, he was grateful Frodo left early enough to miss their arrival.  
  
Guilt nagged at him nonetheless for the cold way he'd sent his nephew off. He still had some learning of his own when it came to raising a tweenager. He would apologize later when Frodo came home, and once this business of the Sackville-Baggins' was over with, an enormous weight would be removed from him. Perhaps then his nephew wouldn't have to fear living in a home with a grump like him.  
  
Passing into the den and opening up a book, he resolved himself to work on that right after this ordeal with the Sackville Bagginses was out of the way, and Frodo returned after a good day's journey.  
  
The storm that had come through during the night had swept away all the heat and humidity with it, replacing the fall afternoon with a rather chilly air. Frodo was lucky to have remembered to grab his cloak before leaving. He wrapped it around himself tightly as sharp, biting winds blew past his face.

Tears slipped down the tweenager's cheeks as he walked along the edge of the corn field. He had only journeyed a few doors away from Bag End when he'd begun to cry, after struggling at first to choke swallow down the lump rising in his throat. Yet Bilbo's parting words, "Didn't you say you had to meet Merry before second breakfast?" spoken in a tone matching his Aunt Angeline's when she wished him to leave a room, without being impolite had unraveled him. It was a pleasant tone underlining annoyance and disgust. Hearing it from his dear uncle's mouth, the sobs burst forth from his throat.  
  
That had been nearly an hour ago. He had decided to take a separate path from the one most commonly traveled in hopes he wouldn't run into anyone seeing an unfamiliar, crying hobbit wandering down the road. Through his blurred vision he had barely observed the beautiful meadows that he passed. But as he finally calmed down, he came to see he was coming up to the pass where he was supposed to meet Merry. He didn't know how he was to confront his cousin, surely Merry would see that his eyes were terribly red and he was too miserable to speak for a reason. But he couldn't help it, the feeling that he'd desperately been trying to contain for weeks now was open and exposed. He was lonely, desperately lonely, and afraid.

Instinct immediately worked to stifle the feeling, recalling Merry's reminder that Bilbo would never turn him away deliberately. That excuse never sufficed. Not after today, when Bilbo had given him such an angry glare, when he had told him almost calmly to just go away.

Fear ran madly through Frodo's shaking limbs. His uncle did regret bringing him to live at Bag End. It had become obvious, especially in these last few weeks. Anxiously he'd sought to make himself as useful to Bilbo as possible, but anything he did seemed to bother his uncle all the more. If only Bilbo would If only Bilbo would sit down and talk to him again like they always had before, and not be busying himself with chores or his book, Frodo would not be feeling this way, he was sure of it. He had grown to know the consequences of clinging too hard to someone, from living with distant aunts and uncles, who did not pay much attention to him, and when they did it was out of politeness or boredom. That had been the most important reason Frodo had agreed to come live with Bilbo, for he loved his uncle and had hoped to have welcoming arms there to take care of him and pay attention to him.

Frodo had just cut down a narrow path between two cornfields when he suddenly heard a rustling noise behind him, a noise too sharp to be the wind. Turning, half expecting it to be a neighbor or Merry even, he was struck to see it was a man.  
  
He appeared to have just come out from beyond the corn stalks and stood, unmoving, just a few feet away. He was tall and thin, dressed in filthy tan breeches, a shabby tunic, and a ruddy cloak. The man wore a black mask, covering his entire face except for his eyes, which gleamed out at him from their black sockets.

Frodo had never been warned to stay away from men were he to ever see one, but a terrible nervousness grew in the pit of his stomach at the presence of the man. Swallowing, he began sliding away a few paces, his eyes never leaving the figure standing there.  
  
"No, no don't be frightened, Halfling," the man said, stepping out a little further from the corn stalks. Frodo hesitated. The voice that came from beneath the thick mask did not sound threatening, but the person standing in front of him did. "Now what would a little halfling like you be doing out here in the middle of nowhere?"  
  
"What are you doing in the Shire?" Frodo dared to ask, continuing to inch backwards a few more paces. He didn't understand what a man would be doing so far away from his own country.  
  
"Why, my companion and I actually got lost," he said, with a grim laugh. He folded his arms in front of his chest, but made no move towards Frodo, and stood firm on his place next to the field.  
  
"The Brandywine Bridge is several miles east," Frodo replied, edging backwards, but keeping his eyes intent on the man. He didn't know why, perhaps it was because it was his first encounter with a man, or simply the sinister appearance, but he felt a tightening in his chest compelling him to get away from there.  
  
The man continued to watch him move away, his hands still folded in front of him. Frodo sensed a smile behind the mask. "I'm thankful for the information," the muffled voice replied, suddenly cocking his head to look beyond Frodo, behind him.  
  
Frodo gasped as an arm wrapped around his waist, crushing him against a hard chest. "HEL -" he managed out, in a scream still hoarse from his crying, before a second hand clamped tightly over his mouth.  
  
Fiery terror burned in Frodo's chest, springing him to action. The little hobbit kicked and struggled helplessly against the arms that held him, clawing desperately to escape from the painfully firm grip. As he squirmed, his eyes widened to see the masked man walking towards them. He had unfolded his arms, and swinging back his cape, revealed a sword at his belt buckle.  
  
Frodo screamed once more, yet as he did, he felt his head snap backwards as the arm jerked his jaw to silence him. He whimpered at the sudden dizziness he felt in that jerk. His heart palpitated in his chest as the man towered over him.   
  
"So here's the little gold mine, up close and in the flesh," he said, smoothly. He leaned his hand down to ruffle the curly hair. "Drop him for a second."  
  
Frodo felt the arms circling him suddenly loosen, and he collapsed onto the grass, too dizzy and afraid to move. As he coughed into the ground, a foot planted itself on top of his back, pinning him painfully to the ground.  
  
"What do you want?" he croaked, tears springing in his eyes.  
  
"You're Frodo Baggins, right?" the masked man demanded. He had not even seen the other one who had held him yet. A hand dug into his brown curls and forced his head upwards, to face the beady eyes glaring through the mask. "You are the nephew of Bilbo Baggins."  
  
Frodo stared, beseechingly, afraid to answer. But his reply was obviously unnecessary, as they could see full well the little hobbit they had been following all day was the very same that had come out of Bag End. The large, innocent blue eyes were identical and unable to mask the recognition of that name.  
  
"Bind him," the first one said, releasing his hair roughly and forcing him to face the ground again. His arms were abruptly snatched and pinned behind him, and he felt large hands roughly tying them in place.  
  
"What do you want?" Frodo cried, panic shooting through him. "What do you want, I'm not anybody -" his voice was choked as a filthy cloth was shoved into his mouth and knotted in the back of his head. Another cloth was tied over his eyes.

Frodo could barely register being lifted off the ground and slung in front of one of them, clutching him tightly, before galloping off on what he assumed was a horse. His head swirled with quaking confusion as he fought to understand was happening to him. But the darkness of his own shock and blindness and paralyzing fear blocked out everything but the hammering of his heart and muffled cries.

TBC 


	3. Forgotten

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

Disclaimer: I own the nasty kidnappers, but all Lord of the Rings originals are the sole property of one J.R.R. Tolkien.

Rating: PG-13 for violence, cursing and hobbit suffering.

Summary: Word travels far of a wealthy millionaire hobbit in the Shire. A few ruffians attempt to gain his fortune by kidnaping his nephew, Frodo Baggins.

Notes: I apologize if this took longer than expected. My excuse is hopefully understandable, you see I had the fortune to have a friend of a friend who got a copy of LOTR early from a shipping company, and gave me one. So my mind has been somewhat detached from the writing screen and watching the DVD five thousand times a day. :)

This chapter is somewhat short, but I guarantee chapter 4 to be up by Saturday, Sunday at the latest.

Merry leaned impatiently against the fence, his elbows resting on the wood, his brown eyes staring angrily at the silent corn fields ahead of him. He was determined not to walk to the Boffin's home again to check the time. As a trick of irony, he hoped if he stopped walking up there and simply sat waiting, then Frodo would actually make his presence known. But it had been hours now since Merry had last visited them and now the sun was falling fast, his hands were growing numb with the cold, and he was terribly hungry and unable to convince himself any longer that his cousin had been simply postponed. 'Idiotic Brandybuck' he muttered to himself, hurt and anger swirling in the depths of his heart. His cousin was not coming.

He went over the plans he and Frodo had made yesterday. They were supposed to meet each other at the road that divided Hobbiton from Tookland in the early noon. They figured that would give them plenty of time to explore the creek that lay near Hobbiton, and the outlining area before supper. Merry had even gotten there a little early, hoping he could apologize to Frodo for his rudeness yesterday before they set off. It had taken time and a long, wet, miserable journey home to make him realize fully how mean he had been the day before. His cousin had been in the middle of telling him how alone and unwanted he felt, when Frodo rarely opened up about personal matters at all, and because he had unintentionally hurt the young Brandybuck's pride, Merry had dashed off and left Frodo alone with his sad thoughts. In an effort to make it up to him, Merry had taken the trip from the Smials to the edge of Hobbiton as quickly as he could, abashed but eager to apologize to his dear cousin.

That had been hours ago, and Merry was growing tired and irritated at waiting. He had been glad at first to rest his aching legs after the long journey from the Smials, but had not imagined he would feel cramps from sitting too long. Where was Frodo? 'Bilbo kept him for second breakfast,' Merry figured, initially. Yet the time for second breakfast passed, and Merry grew worried, fearing there might have been a fight between his cousin and uncle, and Bilbo had kept Frodo inside for the day. Fresh shame overlapped his heart, and he wished he'd listened to Frodo the day before. But the idea of Bilbo punishing Frodo seemed very unlikely; after all, Bilbo loved Frodo dearly. Of all the little cousins Bilbo had, Frodo had been the one who Bilbo had traveled so often to Brandy Hall to see. It was unlikely the older hobbit had punished him, just as unlikely as Frodo's suspicions that his uncle had lost interest or his love for him. 'No, Bilbo would not have house-bound Frodo, not without sending someone to let me know, instead of making me sit and wait here all day.'

The time dragged on, and Merry's cheeks began to sting with the cold air searing his face. His shame began to give way to hurt, as he wondered why Frodo would neglect to come. If Frodo had been punished, why had no message came? and if he hadn't, what was taking him so long? 'He's angry at me for yesterday, for leaving him like that. It's payback for not listening to him.'

Anger accompanied the hurt that began to simmer beneath the surface of his logic. It was his unfortunate disposition to feel angry along with insecurity, and the two emotions warred with him now as he attempted to stifle the fear that his cousin had deliberately left him here. But no, Frodo would never be that inconsiderate or vengeful. Would he?

The cold wind blew into him again, and he closed his eyes to block the rawness of his limbs. To entertain himself while he waited, and distract himself from rising irritation and hurt, he began switching from sitting on the tree stump to pacing idly for a while. Then he would go back to the tree stump and sit on the fence for a while.

Merry gritted his teeth and continued waiting. The day grew worse as he encountered passer-byes, who stared at him as though he were some ragged urchin with nothing better to do than to sit on the log all day. Some walked by him quickly, as though fearing he was up to some cruel mischief, while others gave him long hard glances of disgust. Although he was the son of the Master of Buckland, he was far from home, and few identified him as such. Those who did seemed even more confused and asked him what in the world he was doing there, leaning on the edge of a fence in the middle of nowhere and going nowhere? The looks of degradation and his rising impatience made him feel even more embarrassed and alone, too alone to bother waiting any longer. He slowly began forgetting all guilt he'd saved for Frodo and grew more convinced that the only possibility for Frodo's absence was he had declined to come, and left Merry to sit here like a stupid drudge the entire day.

'Frodo, if you don't get here now, then I'm going to leave!' He spat out mentally. 'This has gone far enough, you could of at least had the courtesy to send someone to tell me you weren't coming, and not ruined my whole day! I guess it is my fault, as I'm sure you're saying. I was stupid enough to wait like this for you the whole time.'

As his own thought struck him, he realized he'd had enough. It was late in the afternoon now, he was chilly, pink-cheeked from the rough wind, and too tired to feel like playing games, even if Frodo ever did arrive. Sighing, he summed up all the anger he had left as the energy to begin the long trip back to the Smials. 'I might as well go home to Buckland now,' he thought, with a tightened jaw. 'It's not like he'll notice I'm gone.'

'Thank Elbereth that's over with.' Bilbo let out a long, sagging sigh of relief as he closed the door on his stormy relatives. 'If only I had not muttered elvish curse words at them the whole time and told them what I really thought, perhaps they would not have stayed so long.'

He scrubbed his face with his hand as he walked back into the den to collect the bowls and glasses Lobelia and Otho had left there. They had not eaten as much as Bilbo had hoped. In an effort to limit the amount of conversation, he had hoped the constant stream of cooked ham, deviled eggs and milk in their mouths would do the trick. The plan had failed however, and to Bilbo's dismay it had been a long, biting argument, and on top of that they left most of the food to waste. The older hobbit shook his head grumpily as he dumped several sliced apples and pears into a can for the occasional throwing away of food; leave it to the Sackville-Bagginses to spoil the morning down to the last crumbs of food on the table.

As he finished clearing the table, Bilbo prepared himself a warm cup of tea to calm his nerves. Heading back into the den, he plunked down upon his favorite chair, savoring the soft, lumpy cushion and resting his head against the back. A heavy, relieved smile swallowed the scowl in his expression, as he allowed the warmth of the fire, the comfort of the chair and the soothing taste of the tea and honey, to carry him away from the morning's disruptions. There was no greater comfort than this, having a cup of tea in front of a roaring fire in the peace and quiet of a chilly afternoon.

"You idiotic hobbit! what crazy idea did you have, bringing a hobbit lad to live with you?" Lobelia's sharp voice pierced his otherwise pleasant thoughts. "Since when do you desire the company of your

relatives? You're a hermit, and up and down the hills all the Shire knows it!"

The morning had been as unpleasant as Bilbo had anticipated. He had tried to greet them as politely as he could, and dove into talking about the new fence they were building at the Baggin's door a few miles down the road. Any hopes to steer talking about the inevitable discussion was worth attempting. But Lobelia had cut him off at once.

"Don't you be sly with me, Bilbo Baggins, you know why Otho and I are here, so don't bore me with the measurements for a worthless fence!" she spat. "What's possessed you to dare bring a child to live with you, you with your ridiculous tales and no sense left -"it had started at that, and went farther into all the reasons why he was an idiot and mad to imagine bringing up a young hobbit. She claimed Bilbo had lost his mind on his travels and lacked the sense or decency to raise a child. Among everything that was said, Frodo was at the root of the conversation. And the insults she hurled at Frodo himself were far worse than any she could think up of him. She ranted about how he was a Brandybuck, and how he was half out of his mind already to be one, not to mention the lad's parents had drowned themselves at the sight of him. Otho didn't seem to be interested in chatter, although he clearly shared the same opinions as his wife's, but chose to sit smoking his pipe and observing the argument between her and Bilbo with humorous mockery.

Through the tirade, Bilbo sat back comfortably in his chair, half listening, half chanting a familiar elvish tune to himself. He had been forced on too many occasions in his lifetime to listen to the mindless, selfish accusations of his relative, and had mastered the ways to distract himself long ago. As she paused for a moment to grasp some other excuse to his destroying the Baggin's name, Bilbo took the opportunity to interject, "Your pleasant calling, my dear Lobelia, and your appreciated concern of my welfare wouldn't have anything to do with me switching my heir from Lotho to Frodo, would it?"

There - that was it. Just as he expected. Bilbo had to chew vigorously on his lower lip to suppress a grin as Lobelia's pale eyes widened with cold hatred. She began sputtering words of shock and fury when he continued. "Be assured, I will of course leave a little something to your darling son in my will, but I have recently switched my affection towards a nephew whom I am very fond of, and besides which I have no intention of falling over anytime soon."

"You - you vile creature! I had my fears before, but now I know for certain you sold your utter soul to the elves for those riches and that far away glaze in your eyes! You sly little serpent! You mangy dog -"

"And if I am these things, then why in Middle Earth would you wish me to shower affection on your son, especially since all the wealth I may acquire comes from the journey that made me mad, as in your own words?" he inquired, raising his eyes brows in unassuming curiosity.

Bilbo was surprised and humored when the conversation wrapped up with that. Lobelia's blubbery lips and pointed noise twisted into a hideous sneer as she groped up from her chair, her cane in hand.

Bilbo had been pleased with himself for asserting the facts of Frodo's inheritance without verbally attacking them. He knew anything he said against Lobelia or her nasty, selfish son would be used against him when she complained to her lawyer, which he was sure she was in the process of doing now. For his own benefit, he was glad he had kept his composure.

The only accusation she had made that had truly stung was when she attacked Bilbo for being a terrible influence on his younger nephew. Not only was he, in her opinion, incapable of taking care of child while he was a mad bachelor, but he was fostering the lad's own madness and hurting his reputation in the process. This opened up an actual fear Bilbo felt for bringing Frodo to live with him. Although his young nephew had never been bothered by his uncle's peculiar ways, in fact openly respecting them, Frodo was still too young to understand what a bad reputation could cost in the long run while living in the Shire. Bilbo had never feared Frodo, who was a sweet, intelligent and eager lad, would create a bad reputation for himself on his own. But he had not considered the serious consequence of his own reputation effecting Frodo's, and making him vulnerable to bad opinion or scorn. From the way Lobelia had mentioned that to him, he could sense the words were not simply trash from her own mouth, but sounded like a collection of numerous rumors and speculation.

'Dear Frodo.' The boy flittered through his mind for a second, but was soon dashed as he decided to work on his book. The slightest bit of good had come out of the meeting, for there was a particular malice to Lobelia's eyes he had noticed that reminded him quite vividly of the spiders he fought on his journey. After he finished his cup of tea, he sat down at his desk and began sketching the creature. The large, glossy film of the eyes were similar to that of his relation's and she could serve as a great model for illustration. The spider's disgusting habit of split flecking from their mouths as they spoke also had a striking similarity, he thought humorously. Bilbo continued working on the drawing for about an hour before the grumbles in his stomach began to hurt. He had not eaten much himself at their visit, and it was about the time to begin preparing supper.

As Bilbo headed into the kitchen, he wondered vaguely where Frodo might be this late in the afternoon, but he figured he was still out with Merry and shrugged off any worry. It was fortunate Merry had been visiting relatives near the Smials for a fortnight, for Bilbo had allowed the Gamgees to travel to their own relatives several miles away, when one of the Gaffer's elder aunts was dying. It had been boring for Frodo with his good friend Samwise gone. Luckily Merry had arrived a few days later, and Frodo had someone to entertain him while Bilbo had nasty business to attend to, had to work on his book, or simply desired to be alone for a while.

He hoped Frodo would not mind eating ham left over from the afternoon. Bilbo hated having to put good food to waste, and it had been such a luscious ham from the few mouthfuls he had eaten. Throwing out good food that had taken great effort to make seemed just as ludicrous as throwing away a handful of gold coins. He set the ham upon the table, along with freshly stewed vegetables, bread, and some freshly made strawberry juice.

Frodo still had not returned home just before supper. 'Still prancing the hills as his old uncle once did,' he thought, fondly. He took the opportunity of his nephew's absence to stretch out on the couch and read a book Gandalf had brought him while on his last visit to Hobbiton. The logs in the hearth made sharp cracking noises, and the heat radiated from the red blaze, making the room warm and comforting. Any anxiety over the morning, with the Sackville-Bagginses or Frodo, was forgotten as he drowned himself in the story of the princess and the dragon.

The fire continued to blaze softly, and the heat was so soothing that Bilbo's eyes began to burn with renewed exhaustion. Before he could finish the sentence he planned to end on, a hot breath of air closed his eyelids, and he dropped off to sleep.

TBC

I'll be minding Frodo in the next chapter. I hope everyone noticed I put in where Samwise has gone to, if anyone wondered why he hasn't been in the story yet. He'll be coming up soon enough.


	4. Journey to Bree

Title: Treasures  
Author: BellaMonte  
Disclaimer: Not mine  
Summary: Gossip ran through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins possessed a great fortune in the depths of his  
home. Several ruffians attempt to seize that fortune by kidnaping his young nephew and holding him for  
ransom.   
Rating: PG-13  
Notes: Although this is pretty much Alternate Universe already, I wanted to point out some minor  
changes I'm making that go against Tolkien's storyline. For the sake of the plot, Merry, Frodo and  
Sam are going to be around the same age. Frodo's still the oldest, but Merry's only about five years  
younger instead of twenty, and Sam around the same age as Merry. This makes them tweenagers  
together, so Frodo's still a little kid, estimated about nine or ten in human years. The second change is  
Bree is going to be only two days away from Hobbiton on horseback instead of four. These will make  
the storyline run smoother, I hope nobody minds.   
  
Elerrina Wood: "I know who the stupid unnamed hobbit was."   
BellaMonte: Or do you? Hee hee, I'm glad you pointed out the little references I put in here and there  
but this is almost a mystery story as well, and your theory may be correct, or I might be taking a less  
direct course. We'll have to keep going and see. :)  
  
Mainframe: Thank you so much again for your insightful comments! I'm so unbelievably flattered you  
like my story. 'Brandywine' has always been a wonderful inspiration to me, in trying to demonstrate the  
description, characterization, etc. behind the actual plot in order to bring the story alive. I'm glad you  
enjoy my style, as I love yours. I'm eagerly awaiting chapter 16.  
  
Manc Admirer: I'm glad you're enjoying the relationship tension. When coming up with the idea, I had  
considered making the Bilbo/Frodo relationship perfectly happy and carefree, but I always wondered  
what conflict there might have been between them that Tolkien never explored. The story seemed an  
ideal time to explore it myself And that's one aspect of the story I'm trying to convey, are the problems  
that could have started before the actual kidnaping, and make the experience for Frodo, Bilbo, etc. all  
the more interesting, frightening, and the ending more profound. (yes, there is an ending, but it's far off  
in the distance at the moment.)  
  
To Claudia, etc. thank you for your lovely reviews as well, your encouragement are the fuel to the fire  
of creation. I'm hugging you all!   
  
  
~*~  
  
'This isn't real. This a bad dream.' Frodo fought for air through the filthy cloth blocking his throat and  
the pressure of the arm over his rib cage. The horse was galloping wildly through an unseen world,  
carrying the man and he along for the desperate ride. The little hobbit would have been thrown off by  
now, from the rough turns and furious speed, if not for the massive arm clutching him.   
  
  
Frodo tried hopelessly to scream again, hoping to alert any who might hear his faint cry, or pause the  
men from wherever they were taking him. But the cry made it no farther past the gag in his mouth, and  
he could only hear the pitiful muffle echo in his own throat.   
  
'Oh please, someone help me!' Frodo cried out in his mind. Yet the plea only reminded him how  
helpless and trapped he really was. No mental cry was going to help him now.   
  
The man suddenly reared the horse far to the right, and Frodo was jerked forward as the man pulled  
the reins and careened the animal in another unseen direction.  
  
Who were they? Neither of them had spoken since they had fled on the horses, except short mumblings  
about what direction to ride. In their silence, Frodo wondered again who they were. The man he had  
seen had a scruffy appearance, but wore respectable clothing, or was at least considered so in hobbit  
fashion. It had been his towering size and the fact that Frodo had never seen a man before that had  
alarmed him.   
  
'I should have ran!' he scolded himself, angrily. If he had ran as his instinct had told him, then he might  
have seen the second man who grabbed him from behind. Even though he was blindfolded, Frodo tilted  
his head up to where the man's face would be, and wondered what the other ruffian looked like. Fresh  
terror latched onto him to know he was bound, gagged and blindfolded in the clutches of an enemy he  
hadn't even seen, and he had no idea what they wanted with him. They had asked him questions while  
they attacked him, asking him his name and his uncle, for reasons he couldn't understand. Besides this,  
all he knew for sure was they were taking him away somewhere. The horses had been riding for hours,  
carrying him farther and farther away from home.   
  
'What is Bilbo going to think when he finds that I'm gone? Merry will wonder why I never came to  
meet him. I hope he doesn't think I abandoned him there! He'd be so angry!' The thought dawned on  
him for the first time that he may never escape this, he may never see Bilbo or Merry, or dear Sam, his  
new friend, or the Gaffer or anyone from home again.   
  
'Why is this happening? Who are these people? What do they want with me?' Frantically he attempted  
to think back to the Shire, to Bag End, to Bilbo, but at that moment the horse took another clumsy turn,  
dragging Frodo out of his thoughts, the only freedom he had left.   
  
Suddenly he couldn't think about home or about anything. All he could feel was the thick rope binding  
his wrists together behind him, the wretched gag tied so tightly around his face that his jaw ached from  
the yawning position and the blindfold that secured his eyelids down, sealing him in a world of darkness.   
He choked on a sob.   
  
"Shut-up, yuh little whiner," a voice threatened in his ear. Frodo trembled at hearing it for the first time.  
The man sounded rough, hideous, threatening.  
  
"Why'd you blindfold him, Rob, we're both concealed," said the voice of the man who had stood in the  
fields.   
  
"We's don't want him seein' us and blabbin' to his hobbit friends now. Havn't we enough dough on  
our heads?"   
  
"Who said this hafling's going to see them again?"   
  
Frodo listened to the short exchange, and observed the man who clutched him had a rougher voice and  
spoke less formal than the other, who sounded very straight forward, almost pleasant in his speech.   
The last words he spoke, however, were said so plainly, spoken as calmly as though he were referring  
to the weather, that Frodo found him the more frightening of the two. He began to tremble.   
  
His fear took another terrible turn as the horses began to slow to a stop, and he heard the man  
continue, "There's the other bridge." A cold feeling crept into Frodo's heart when he heard those  
words.  
  
"Good thing this'n bridge was pointed out tu us - if we'd ridden away with 'im on the other one, we  
woulda had the entire Shire round that area to bid us gud-bye."   
  
The soft lapping of water hit Frodo's ears. And a terror, deeply embedded in the lowest reaches of his  
soul, hidden there deliberately by years of practice and oppression, was stripped of it's protective  
cover and lay exposed as he realized where they were.  
  
'No! No! They can't do this, they don't understand!' He had to tell them what happened when he went  
near the Brandywine River. This was the worst possible time this could happen, but it occured every  
time he went near the Brandywine after his parent's death. The images of that day would come back to  
him in a terrible moment and he would be unable to prevent the experience from reliving itself in his  
mind. After a while, his relatives had stopped taking him there and he had managed to forget the  
memories when he was elsewhere. But he could never stop the flood of flashbacks, seeing their pallid  
faces and feeling their clammy hands, when he could hear the playful little ripples of the river.   
  
"Mmmph!" he moaned, the frightened sound tearing from the depths of his heart. He frantically began  
twisting and kicking in a pitiful attempt to break free.   
  
"Damn yuh, keep still!" the rough voice snarled, grasping him so tightly that he could scarcely breathe.  
"C'mon, let's get outta this stinkin farmland already and be done with it."   
  
The horses started to gallop again, their hooves thumping on an unstable wooden surface. Frodo  
sensed the rushing of water beneath him, and the horrible memories began to engulf him.   
  
His mother and father lay stiff as puppets, their bodies wet and dripping on the shore. He had seen them go   
under and sink after a short frantic period of splahsing, but it only came to him in that moment that they   
would never get up to hug him, to take him home, they would never move again.   
  
'No! Stop it! Take me back, don't do this, please!'   
  
His struggles were infuriating the man and he heard him growl something about him paying for this later.   
All he could feel was the cold, clammy hands of his mother as he clutched them. His father's eyes  
were brown, unseeing orbs. His mother's mouth was blue and slightly open, a blade of grass  
sticking to her upper lip.  
  
Frodo twisted frantically, screaming, begging to be released from this horrible place, from these horrible  
people.   
  
'What the Hell is the matter w' this stupid thing?" the man exclaimed, shaking the boy in an attempt to  
jerk him out of his hysterics.   
  
The horses continued to race across the bridge. Dizzying sensations of bobbing up and down, like a  
cork in the water, swirled around Frodo, dragging him into the darkest corners of his mind. The  
nightmare was drowning him, never letting him go, never stopping. The water would never stop  
splashing.  
  
It was over in a few moments, as the noise of the brazen hooves on wood softened at meeting the  
ground. The sounds of the playful splashes slowly became more distant, and Frodo calmed down some,  
ceasing his struggling. They rode for a few yards, before both horses stopped, and the men got down.   
  
"You damn little maggot!" The man growled furiously. He seized Frodo by back of his arms and  
dragged him off the horse, throwing him violently to the ground. Although the hafling had quit thrashing,  
the little thing had proven stronger than he'd thought and it's pitiful whimpering and struggling was  
growing more aggravating all the time.   
  
"Where are some belladonna plants, they grow common enough round 'ere. There's no chance I'm  
chargin all the way to Bree with him squirmin like that all the way."   
  
"Just hold him down, I've got some already mixed in here. I didn't want to have to use it, but he's  
proving more of a nuisance than I thought."   
  
Frodo's mind was still spinning and he lay on the ground gasping and crying, attempting to drag the  
horrifying images from his mind. He heard their words and wondered vaguely where he had heard the  
name of the plant. He was in the middle of tracing the books he'd read, when a large hand seized him  
from the back of his collar and forced him into a sitting position. The surprise and relief of having the  
gag removed from his mouth was replaced with dread as a cloth was clamped over his entire mouth  
and nose. The other hand gripped the back of his head tightly, preventing him from twisting away.   
  
A sweet, potent odor attacked his nostrils, and he struggled to hold his breath so to not take in the  
drug-soaked rag. His heart was unfortunately still palpitating and his lungs burned for air. Without  
thinking he gasped. The sickeningly sweet smell invaded him, weakening his limbs and dimming his mind  
in a single rush. Now completely shed of strength, he breathed again, a long, desperate inhale, and the  
consciousness fled from him. In that moment before he past out, he imagined he was never going to  
wake up again.   
  
In young life, there is a moment when one realizes their own mortality, when they are threatened by the  
chance of death, and then is forced to always understand the delicacy and value of their life from then  
on. In Frodo's case everything suddenly became clear that this was the end. He could have attempted  
to struggle, or thought about his parents and how happy it would be to see them again. But instead his  
mind went back to Uncle Bilbo and the way he always gave him those big bear hugs and told him  
stories of what a joy it was outside the Shire. His heart surged as he realized his uncle was now gone  
from him forever, and he tried to scream, but he was already gone.   
  
TBC  
  
The next chapter is already in the works, expect more very soon. 


	5. The Letter

Title: Treasures  
Author: BellaMonte  
E-Mail: bellamonte@aol.com  
Rating: PG-13 for violence and mild cursing  
Disclaimer: The nasty kidnappers are mine, but all other characters belong solely to one J.R.R. Tolkien  
Summary: Gossip ran through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins possessed a vast fortune in the depths of his home. Several ruffians attempt to seize that fortune by kidnaping his nephew, Frodo Baggins, and holding him for ransom.   
  
  
~*~  
  
Awakening was a slow, aching process. The first thing Frodo began to sense was a mild, not wholly uncomfortable dizziness. From an obscure, but painless world, he began to drift, and it felt as though he were a leaf being jostled gently by the ripples upon the water. As he was pulled closer towards consciousness, the giddiness began to grow more intense, and sharpened into acute stabs of pain, which grew stronger as he was dragged back into the confines of his own body.  
  
His back hurt. His neck hurt. His entire body was wracked with a terrible stiffness that burned like a silent fire and cried out to move. He tried to lure himself back to that peaceful state of unfeeling, but by that time the pain had awoken him, and he could not find his way back.   
  
A faint groan brushed passed his ears before he realized it was his own. Groaning again, Frodo tried to lift his head from where it slumped forward, his chin buried in his chest. His neck tingled painfully from the change in position, and burned with soreness as he craned it back and forth. He was surprised to find the blindfold had been removed, and as he opened his sore eyes, he was greeted with the surroundings of his new prison.   
  
It was a small, dismal space, constructed of stale wood that had been marred gray by the rain, filth and wear of years. The floor was wooden too, and dirty, with clumps of dust, dirt and grime strewn everywhere. One side of the room had a ceiling that slanted sideways, in a way Frodo had never seen a room constructed before. If not for the heavy cracks that leaked light through the roof, it would have been just as well they left him blindfolded than in the dark. From what he could see, it was an old, wooden house and he was on the top floor. He remembered such floors known as attics, though there were no such thing in hobbit holes.  
  
As his mind came back to himself, he found he was still gagged and now tied to a chair in the center of the gloomy room. His wrists were still bound behind him, his ankles tied to the front legs of the chair. For a few moments he struggled against the ropes, twisting and turning to free himself from the constricting bonds. But like before he was tied fast, and realized with a sinking heart that he could not escape through that method. Instead he tried to move his hands, and continued to crane his neck, attempting to get the circulation back into those stiff, hurting areas. Even if he could not escape the ropes, he would give anything to rid himself of the terrible aching and tingling in his bones.   
  
As he continued to flex his fingers, which were numb from the tight ropes, he felt a burning cramp in his side, which traveled along his waist to his stomach. His belly felt so empty, and jutted so far into his waist, that he was sure the insides were completely hollow; and although it was not the time to be worrying about such a thing while he was in such a perilous position and his life was at stake, he couldn't avoid the fact that he also desperately needed to go to the bathroom. He felt another painful cramp in his stomach and he closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out the various pains that he could not escape from.   
  
'How long have I been here?' he wondered. His stomach lurched again. Almost in answer to his question, the faint sounds of laughing, clamor and stomping feet rang up from beneath the dirty floor boards. The large group of voices intertwined together into one ongoing sound of chatter, and as he strained his ears further, he thought perhaps the voices came from two floors down. He concluded from the cheerfulness in the sounds, and their presence so far below, that there was little hope they were aware of himself above.   
  
It occurred to him that he must be in Bree, the town he had heard one of his captors mention. He felt a terrible pang in his gut, prompted out of both hunger and apprehension, as he remembered that Bree was over two days from the Shire. To be there already meant that amount of time had already passed, if not more.   
  
Frodo cast his head down in bewilderment.'I've been gone 2 days already! What chance is there of escape now? What has happened while I was unconscious, what is happening at home?'   
  
Bilbo instantly came to his thoughts, and a huge swell of love erupted in him, as he yearned more than anything to be with his uncle. Closing his eyes, he thought back to peaceful memories of waking up at Bag End under the warm comfy blankets, the green tea waiting for him at the breakfast table, the aging but firm hand of his uncle as he patted him on the shoulder and he greeted him good-morning with a warm smile.  
  
The memory faded for a moment, as he recalled the last morning, when his clumsy foolishness had broken a precious dish of Bilbo's, and the unmasked irritation on his uncle's face. The memory vanished, however, along with any selfish feelings he had of being dejected or accusing his uncle of doing him harm. Fears of being a nuisance to Bilbo or being ignored lost any meaning in the grief of losing his uncle completely. Such fears paled in the shadows of today, and he longed only, and more earnestly than ever before, to just be safe back home.   
  
As he thought this, he realized it was the first time he really felt the right to call Bag End his home. It had always been Bilbo's before, and Frodo live under the notion that he was Bilbo's guest, but now he couldn't see it as anything less than his haven where he longed to be. A haven he might never see again......  
  
'No!' He shouldn't like think like that. He couldn't. He had to be brave, like Bilbo, was when he had gone on his adventure. 'In a sense, Bilbo was dragged unwillingly from his home as well, and look how that turned out in the end,' he tried to tell himself. 'It was Bilbo's bravery that kept him going, I have to do the same, otherwise I won't be able to endure whatever happens later.'   
  
He repeated these words over and over, even as the sounds of two sets of footsteps grew louder and closer, even as his chest began to hammer again his chest again.  
  
'Be brave,' he began to chant, even as his teeth chattered between the gag, even as the footsteps grew louder and more persistent. The voice telling him to brave did not seem to come from himself, instead it sounded like Bilbo, telling him not to give up hope. But his heart continued pounding, like a violent fist upon his chest. If only his heart would stop pounding. Would it ever stop pounding?  
  
A trap door lifted from the floor on Frodo's left. His eyes squinted to the sudden light, and two figures ascended the stairs, candles clutched in their hands. They stood tall and unmoving from across the room, light flickering across their unmasked features. Frodo's eyes widened into saucers as he recognized the one from before, and the other standing by him was no doubt the other; neither of them wore their veils, and Frodo looked upon the faces of his captors for the first time.   
  
The first ruffian had greasy hair that hung down straight to his shoulders, a lean, oily face, a grim mouth and small, cynical eyes that regarded him with weary but dark indifference. The one who had clutched him on the terrifying ride was big, heavy set, and had a wild bush of black frizzy hair that hung in all directions around his head. From amidst the dark eyebrows and beard, Frodo could see the pair of black, beady eyes, glaring at him, his lips curling out from beneath the wild moustache in a hideous sneer. They both wore dark cloaks and grimy tunics, and had long, gleaming swords that hung on the side of their belt buckles.   
  
Frodo's eyes switched frantically from one to the other, attempting to reason which one looked more frightening. From the physical wildness and violent temper of the one man to the cold, determined malice of the other, the only conclusion he could make was that he wished more than anything that they had just left him blindfolded to this horror.   
  
They stood staring at him for a moment. Then the one that looked like a depraved dwarf leaned over to mumble something in the other's ear, and his companion nodded. Together they approached Frodo. The dark, bearded one, who Frodo now remembered had been referred to as Rob, stooped over a small table nearby to light another candle, while the other ruffian kneeled before Frodo.   
  
"You're going to stay quiet, right," he ordered, rather than asked. "Don't bother yourself with ideas of screaming. I cain't say anyone would hear beyond that racket downstairs, and no one would give a damn if they heard anyway."   
  
Frodo understood he was being given the opportunity to have the gag removed, and despite the discouragement that screaming would be pointless, it would feel so much better to have the ache in his jaw removed. He nodded fervently, and the man untied the cloth from his mouth.   
  
"The same applies to the rest of you now, if we untie you you're going to stay put - trying to rush downstairs or throwing yourself out the roof isn't going to get you anywhere any faster."   
  
Before Frodo could even answer this time, he felt hands upon his own, playing with the ropes round his wrists. He jerked his head behind him to see the bearded ruffian at work untying his bonds while the man in front of him untied his ankles from the chair. As Frodo felt the cords removed from his limbs for the first time in days, he felt a little heartened to be free, but dreaded what reason they would have for allowing him to be so.   
  
After untying him, the man called Rob grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and lifted him from the chair, expecting him to stand. But the blood was now coursing madly through his swollen veins, bringing life and feeling back into his limbs with a tingling, weakening heat. As Frodo was released from the hold, he collapsed onto the floor, unable to support himself from the weakness of days of confinement and little, if any, nourishment.   
  
Frodo's breathing intensified but he said nothing as he remained flat on the floor, listening as they fumbled with something that sounded like paper.   
  
"You've gotta write a letter right'now," he said, shoving the pen quill in the little hobbit's reluctant hand. Frodo was still struggling to prop himself upright, but only managed to support himself by his elbows. He cursed himself for his own weakness and the insatiable hunger of his hobbit belly, even if he was one of the leaner and more enduring of his race.   
  
"C'mon, write it!" the man hissed, the growing impatience evident in his voice. Frodo blinked his eyes several times to clear the slight bluriness of his vision, and found that his hand trembled incessantly whenever he tried to press the pen to the paper. It was useless, he couldn't write anything intelligible with the shaking of his limb.   
  
"No, please! Wait, stop!" he gasped, as the man gripped his thin arm. It strained to talk, and he coughed from the dryness of his throat. "C-can I have some water?" he whispered, unable to release any other sound. "I'm so th-thirsty. S-so hungry. I c-c." He paused to swallow hard. "Can't move my h-hands right." He broke off from another fit of hoarse coughing. The thin ruffian shook his head in agitation.   
  
"Aye, we haven't fed the boy yet. Go downstairs and get some water and some grub for him."   
  
"You'll make sure tha' letter gets written la'er, right?"   
  
"He can't write if he can't see straight," the man reasoned, slapping his leg in annoyance.   
  
Snorting in anger at his companion's intelligence that surpassed his own, Rob groped down the unsturdy steps. He shot Frodo a warning look before disappearing down the steps, leaving the little hobbit and the ruffian alone.   
  
"His name's Strasser, by the way," the man replied, taking out a pipe as he said so.   
  
Frodo lolled his head from where it observed the trap door to view the man at the other end of the room. His gaze was blank and exhausted as he took in what the man had said.  
  
"I heard him called Rob before," he mumbled, the last of his energy beginning to ebb.   
  
"Rob Strasser to put them together in the correct order," he said, fishing around in his pocket to fill up his pipe. "Mine's Tony Chattin, if you cared to know the names of your captors."   
  
"N-no. I don't want-t-to know," he exhaled, his head falling forward into the crook of his arm. He lacked the strength to support it. He didn't understand why this man was telling him this, and he feared the more he knew, the less chance there was they'd let him go.   
  
"I don't want to know," he said again, weaker. "Tell me f-fake n-names."   
  
The man, Tony, laughed at this as though there was something funny in the idea. Frodo wondered whether it was the idea of the fake name or his not wanting to know, but couldn't find the strength in his throat to ask. For a few moments there was silence, as the ruffian declined from continuing the conversation, and the hobbit lay trying to collect his scattered thoughts and calm his breathing.   
  
Frodo didn't dare move from where he lay sprawled on the filthy floor. His wrists and ankles, which hadn't had any feeling in them when he woke up, now felt as though they were burning from the tingling of the renewed circulation, and he realized now how weak he had become in the past days. His head spun, most likely from dehydration and hunger, and the rest of him felt too overcome and dazed to move any longer.   
  
Lifting his head from where it had sagged in his arms, he looked up to see the man had sunk down into a chair across the room, and had begun smoking idly. He stared dully out between a particularly large break between two boards of the slanted roof, and payed no attention to the hobbit captive.   
  
Frodo stared at him, his blue eyes gleaming with dread. He was debating within himself whether he should dare try and talk to the man. They were eager for him to write a letter, of all things, and for that reason Frodo hoped they were not planning on killing him yet.   
  
His stomach twisted in another painful knot. Would it be folly to dare ask why was this happening to him? What did they want?  
  
His throat felt so sore, and he tilted his head towards the man. He could barely hear his own voice as he whispered, "Why are you doing this to me?"   
  
His inquiry caught the man's attention, and he turned after a long moment to cast his pebble green eyes at the little hobbit on the floor. "You don't know?" he asked, scornfully.   
  
  
Frodo's eyes dropped for a second, and he paused to lower his head back into his arms, the dizziness beginning to grow once again. Lifting his head after a moment, he shook his head slowly, his face a mask of pale, hopeless fatigue.   
  
It intrigued and humored Tony to observe such an ignorant creature. He'd heard talk from Bree folk of the simplicity of hobbit lives, and the quickness to their emotions, but it had never occurred to him how stupid they must be, desiring knowledge no further than what their neighbor knew down the road, and fearing nothing that might occur outside their sheltered, but not invulnerable, worlds.   
  
"They really do rear you haflings to have deliberate holes in your heads, I see," he replied, as he laughed to himself.   
  
The little hobbit's head had collapsed into the crook of his arm again, and Tony doubted that he had heard him. Knowing that if the plan worked right the hobbit wouldn't be going back once the fortune was collected, he figured he might as well humor the hobbit with the truth. He almost smiled, grimly, to know what the hobbit didn't, while he lived so far away, and the little hobbit living within the very walls of the dwelling and not knowing any better about the treasures breathing next to him. It was an ignorant little hobbit, indeed.  
  
"You do know your uncle is rich, don't you?" he asked, loud enough to reach the hobbit's ears.   
  
"Bilbo?" Frodo asked, lifting his head again to see the man smirking. As he heard the ruffian's question, he wondered what significance that had to anything. Then the greed that had gleamed in this ruffian's eyes when he had first laid eyes on him in the fields came back, and suddenly held some dreadful meaning.   
  
'Bilbo rich? What a silly thought, he's simply a conservative bachelor,' was Frodo's first notion, but then he began to think back to Bag End, and remembered the gold silverware, the finely sewn rugs, the elegantly stitched cushions upon the couches, the glossy, cherry wood paneling he had just ran his fingertips over a few days before. He had never identified his uncle as rich, for he had never seen the bags of gold and silver that his uncle claimed he had rescued from the dragon, Smaug. But as he looked back on the lavishness of Bag End, as well as the ample amount of gifts Bilbo always gave him and his relatives, it struck him that, indeed, his uncle was far wealthier than anyone he had known in the Shire. But it mattered not to him, and he had none of it within his own pockets. So what had it to do with these men?  
  
"So what do you want me for?" he asked, urgently.   
  
"Ransom, you stupid imp," was the cold reply. He continued to smoke on his pipe and didn't even bother to take in the look of confusion, now combined with horror, on the hafling's face. "Your uncle's rich, and apparently has his treasures stored away somewhere. It seemed less complicated to steal you and trade you in for the treasure, as opposed to killing you both one night and searching the whole place, when it might not be there in the first place."  
  
A terrible cloud of darkness swept over Frodo, and he felt his vision blur as though there was a thick, cloudy mist before his eyes. The truth, like the captor's faces, seemed to have revealed itself too soon, even though it was what he had been begging to know from the beginning.   
  
He lay silent for a few minutes, digesting this horrible realization of why this was happening, and the connection he had to it. Then a devastating notion came upon him. He knew he shouldn't think about it, but the memory of the horrible fight with Bilbo came back to him again, and the sight of his uncle's face, pale and angry with annoyance and shame, combined into the broth of his dark, painful thoughts.   
  
Before he could stop himself, the phantom question was asked. 'Would Bilbo give up his fortune to pay for me, or not?' He sounded as though he were describing himself as a pitcher of milk sold door to door by the Boffins, who lived down the road. The question repeated itself along with the image of the pestered frown in his uncle's face. Bilbo had looked so agitated, so exhausted, so tired of him.  
  
'No!' Any wars that had ever been fought within his own head had often been over small, trivial matters, and usually stifled by a third party, either a relative or a friend, who assured him of the best coarse of action, and did not allow him to get his mind tangled in such circles. But no such person or comforting voice was there to save him, and the darker side began to win while the idealic, dreaming part began to go mad. 'No!' he gasped to himself. 'I can't think like this!'   
  
Frodo knew already these two ruffians would kill him if what he were dreading was the case; despite Tony Chattin's observations, he was a very intelligent boy, and he had no illusions when it came to considering what would happen to him if, or when, they found out that their plan might not be as clever as they thought. But he couldn't think about that now, he couldn't give in to terror now, not when there was some hope now that he would go home. If all they wanted was Bilbo's golden silverware and his threadbare rugs, then he would see the Shire again, right?   
  
'I'm worth more to Bilbo than his favorite dishes, right?' he asked some outside force. But all that came to him was Bilbo saying, "Didn't you say you were meeting Merry today?" allowing despair to creep a little farther into his reason.   
  
Another wave of dizziness, and a terrible cramp in his stomach forced Frodo to sink down once again onto the dirty, musty floor. He lay there for a short while, his breeches and white shirt now effectively soiled, before the trap to the floor lifted once again. Rob Strasser appeared with a sack containing bread, water and some carrots.   
  
"Not much but tha's all we's got here in slum country," the ruffian said. He dumped the sack on the floor and placed the bread and carrots on the floor, expecting that to be what he ate off of.   
  
The sight of the food dragged Frodo out of his fears, at least for the moment, and he crawled forward towards the sack. He drank eagerly from the jug, and the cold, refreshing water bathed his throat and cleared his mind of some of the haze. Once his thirst was satisfied, he proceeded to chew on the stale bread. It was hard, and he had not eaten bread so tasteless in his whole life, but they had brought him a large loaf of it, and he engorged it eagerly. As he ate and drank, his strength began to return to his limbs, and his head continued to clear as he swallowed the solid food.   
  
The ruffians stood over him, and the relief of the food began to wear off as it slowly disappeared down his throat. He began to eat very slowly towards the end of the meal, trying to hold off whatever plan they had for him as long as he could.   
  
Towards the end of his chewing, the two of them both grew impatient, and swiped the sack of crumbs away. Tony placed a candle next to Frodo and laid a grimy piece of paper as well as a small pen quill in front of him on the floor.   
  
"Here," he said, putting the pen quill back in his hand. "Begin writing to your uncle. We'll tell you what to say."   
  
Frodo eagerly wanted to inquire what purpose there was to a letter, unless by some happy chance it was addressed towards home, and he wanted to ask if he could tell Bilbo how much he missed him if that was the purpose. But the urgency in their tones, and the glare in their eyes that matched their swords silenced him.   
  
"Write your uncle's name, 'Dear Bilbo,' Tony instructed.   
  
*Dear Bilbo,   
  
Hello Uncle* he began. His hand still shook, now from fear instead of weakness, but he continued on.   
  
"Now what's that? He didn't tell you to say that!" Strasser growled, he towered like a hideous shadow over the small, shaking form.   
  
Frodo shrunk his head deeper in between his slim shoulders, just avoiding the black eyes that bored into his. "I -It's j-just proper greeting in t-the Shire," he explained. "To say hello as introduction."  
  
A hand gripped the back of his dark curls, forcing his head up. From the glow of the candle he saw the flash of the knife as it slid just beneath his neck. He felt the cool blade graze along his tender throat, and he whimpered silently, terrified to breathe. For a moment there was silence except for the terrible thumping of the little hobbit's heart.   
  
"You write what we say and nothing more," the voice of Tony Chattin said, coldly. He jerked his head forwards again and removed the blade in almost the same movement.   
  
His breathing now openly heavy and belabored, Frodo took the pen quill again in his hand and wrote as they dictated.   
  
  
"Say that it's Frodo, and that you've been kidnaped," Tony replied. Frodo did as he was told, feeling a terrible pain when they made him write next that he was safe.   
  
*I am safe. But they will kill me, Uncle, if you do not do what they say. They say they want the riches and treasures you brought back from your travels all those years ago.*  
  
"So how much does your Uncle leave sitting around on his tables, hafling?" Strasser demanded, nudging Frodo's side with his sword.   
  
"I - I don't know," he said, quietly. "He doesn't leave it lying around."   
  
"Well th'n how the Hell 'er we to collect ran'sm, when we don't rightly know how much th' hobbit has? He cud not un'nerstand and give us pennies worth fer all we know!" Strasser said, suspiciously, to his companion.   
  
Tony shrugged, his hands on the sword at his belt. "We'll have to assume he's smart enough to know that we want what this one's worth. Let that be the determinant."   
  
"But you doan know that fer sure, do ya?" Strasser accused.   
  
"Save that anger for later, Rob, we've no way of knowing - "  
  
"Aww, stuff that Tony, why -!" and with that the two of them broke their attention from Frodo for the moment to argue vehemently between themselves. Frodo listened for a few seconds as they debated over his cost, how much he should say in the message, and other random details that made Frodo sick to hear. Turning his head back to the paper, he observed what he'd written so far. His handwriting looked disorderly and slanted, from his trembling hands, and he wondered if his uncle would be able to recognize it at his at all.   
  
Reaching for the pen quill again, he turned his head slightly to the two men distracted in their argument, and paying him no attention. He remembered the knife just under his throat, and feared they would use it again if he wrote more than they ordered, but he had to tell Bilbo more than what they were commanding. He had no intention of giving away any hints about his whereabouts or saying anything that would anger them further, but he couldn't leave the letter like that. It was too cold and commanding and it didn't sound like him. At the least, he needed to let Bilbo know he was ok.   
  
*I didn't know you had so much money, Uncle,* he confessed, as he began to write again. As he thought for a moment about what he wanted to say to his uncle right now, he felt he should just say what he had to quickly, and to the point. His own guilt of putting himself in such a vulnerable position came to him first.   
  
*I'm sorry I was so annoying - such a nuisance - before this happened. I didn't mean to be, and I'm sorry I've now made it worse. Truly, I didn't mean to make myself so vulnerable. I didn't know.*   
  
Frodo paused as hot tears began flooding his eyes and dissolving his vision. Writing had always been a form of expression that really brought out his memories, dreams and fears, that he otherwise kept locked up in the protection of his own mind. Now that he was confined to this small, disheveled piece of paper as his only communication, he felt his heart pouring out of him along with his tears. Sniffling, he continued to the most important thing he wanted to say.   
  
*I miss you, Uncle. I miss you so much. I want to see you so-*  
  
"What are you doing?" Strasser snarled, throwing back his hand and giving Frodo a hard, violent slap.   
  
Frodo yelped, the force of the blow knocking him onto his side. He wept as the pain manifesting in his nose and cheek. No one had ever hit him like that before, it was a blow delivered without concern or care behind it, only fury and power and punishment. The area that was slapped felt like it was on fire and the rest of his face grew cold and numb.   
  
"What. Did. I. TELL YOU?" he said, furiously, shaking Frodo by the neck. "N' look at this? You got blood on th' only paper we got!"   
  
Frodo looked down to see that the blow had injured his nose, which bled freely now, and had splattered the page heavily with his own blood. Horror crept into Frodo's heart as he saw the line where he had written 'I am safe' was followed by a heavy dapple of scarlet blood. No doubt Bilbo would know it was his own.   
  
"Oh, this is good," the sarcasm in the man's voice rumbled closer to explosion at every word. Frodo tensed and put his hands over his head, preparing for another blow, when he saw Tony snatch the piece of paper and look at it, critically. After a moment the hardness in his jaw lessened a bit, and he looked down on the little hobbit.   
  
"This actually might make it all the more interesting for your uncle to read, and clarify a few issues as to how much he should worry," he replied, placing the paper back in front of Frodo. "So you're a nuisance to your uncle, then. That's good, that little snippet will make him more inclined to loosen his pockets when he's got guilt piled on top of obligation."   
  
Frodo stared up at him, tears surging from the two pools of sapphire blue. 'No! That's not what I wanted it to mean! Bilbo won't think that, will he?'   
  
"Now sign your name and be done with it," Tony demanded, shoving the pen quill in his hand. "And stop whining, I'm starting to wonder why the hobbit was annoyed with you in the first place."   
  
Frodo choked as he tried to get his weeping under control. He pressed his white shirt sleeve against his nose to prevent any more blood flow as he signed his name. He had to write a little farther down the page, for a great spray of his blood had already stained the paper just beneath what he had last written.   
  
"Good," Tony Chattin said, taking the paper and folding it in a square envelope.   
  
Tears continued to stream down Frodo's cheeks as each ruffian grabbed one of his arms and dragged him back to the chair. Then they bound and gagged him once again and left him alone in the darkness.   
  
~*~  
  
TBC  
  
To my dear readers, I'm sorry if this took longer than I had promised, but there was a lot more to it than just knocking out sentences. For every page of writing, there's about ten pages of notes and editations before the final product; this is unfortunately my way of production. I hope the continuation in Frodo's storyline was pleasing. Let's return to Bilbo and Merry for a while though, shall we?  
  
Please read and review, your comments/criticism is as dear as writing itself. :) 


	6. Runaway

Title: Treasure  
Author: BellaMonte  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: The characters in this story are not mine, I have no legal possession of them, I simply write  
about them for sport.   
Summary: Gossip ran through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins possessed a great fortune. A few ruffians  
kidnap his beloved nephew and attempt to hold him for ransom.   
E-Mail: bellamonte@aol.com  
  
  
Myfanwy: Reincarnate of Goldenwolf? You did it, you revealed my disguise!....right. As if. But I have  
to thank you so much, that compliment really jerked me out of a writer's block daze. You're  
wonderful.  
  
tHe InSaNe OnE: I hope I didn't drive you insane by waiting too long. (ducks head.) I hope this  
chapter helps relieve the insanity, and hey look it's really loong.  
  
Tiggivon: I'm sorry, but I have to cut Frodo out for now, but he'll be back soon I promise.   
Considering the storylines have split, I need Bilbo and Merry to catch up time wise. But don't worry,  
there will be plenty more of Frodo in the future.   
  
Shirebound: All I can say in response to your reviews are 'Awww!' You make me blush till I'm a  
tomato! Thank you so much for your feedback, love ya!  
  
Al Quendil: I'm so glad you like my story, I've been following yours (Stolen Lives) from the beginning!  
I appreciate you like the tension in the relationships, the terrible way Merry and Bilbo left Frodo off is  
really going to continue to haunt him as the story runs along, and as you'll see, his own imagination filled  
with fear and misunderstanding, is going to cause him just as much anguish as the kidnappers  
themselves. I hope that didn't spoil anything there. Thank you for the feedback!  
  
Manc Admirer: I always look forward to your wonderful, insightful reviews! I'm glad you find the story  
moving, that's what I was aiming for. I love that you pick up my little details! You're a treasure hunter!   
Heehee, bad pun.   
  
Niphrandl: It was a coincidence, wasn't it? Looking at the dates, we started round the same time :)  
I love yours, I think we're each capturing Frodo at a particularly sensitive time in his life. Thanks for  
reviewing!  
  
Lily Baggins, Shlee Verde, Tulip Proudfoot, Elerrina Wood, Claudia, I can't thank you enough for your  
constant feedback, I love you all! Hope you like chapter 6.   
  
  
If anyone's interested, here's the poem that inspired the story:   
  
  
Home's not merely four square walls,   
Though with pictures hung and gilded;   
Home is where Affection calls,   
Filled with shrines the Heart hath builded!  
Home! Go watch the faithful dove,   
Sailing 'neath the heaven above us;   
Home is where there's one to love!   
Home is where there's one to love us!  
  
Home's not merely room and room -   
It needs something to endear it;   
Home is where the heart can bloom,   
Where there's some kind lip to cheer it!  
What is home with none to meet,   
None to welcome, none to greet us?   
Home is sweet - and only sweet -   
Where there's one we love to meet us!  
  
~ 'Home is Where There's One to Love Us' by Charles Swain  
  
  
~*~  
  
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!  
  
Bilbo woke with a start to the heavy pounding upon his front door. The sudden noise jerked him from  
his otherwise peaceful sleep, and he shot up, looking around wildly at his surroundings. After blinking a  
few times as he fully gained consciousness, it came back to him that he had fallen asleep on the couch.  
The fire was now long burnt out, and left a large pile of charcoal and ash in the quiet fireplace. He  
himself lay in a heap upon the living room couch. He was still dressed, braces and all, and the book he  
had been reading still lay, page open, on his chest.   
  
For a moment he thought it was still evening, but as he looked out from behind the couch, he was  
greeted with the irritating glare of the morning sunshine. 'Elbereth, that nap dragged me through the  
night? Age is catching up me more than I can observe in the mirror,' he thought, as he squinted and  
raised a hand to block out the light.   
  
The loud knock resumed again, this time a little louder and more persistent, and he groaned at the  
noise. He always hated morning callers, and after the encounter with the Sackville-Bagginses yesterday,  
he felt loathe to company completely right now.  
  
Muttering to himself, Bilbo rose and padded over to the door. 'Who in the world could be calling upon  
me now?' he thought, as he re-fastened his brace. From the absurdity of timing, he half imagined it  
might be the band of dwarves at his door once again, and he mustered up a similar air of politeness,  
masking annoyance, as he opened the door.   
  
"Hamfast!" Bilbo exclaimed, his anger vanishing to see it was thankfully not a pair of relations coming to  
borrow a sack of potatoes, nor the Sackville Bagginses for another round of debate. Instead he found it  
was his gardener, Hamfast Gamgee, waiting patiently upon the front step.   
  
"Good mornin, Sir. Jus' wanted you to know we've made it back." The hobbit gestured behind him to  
where the Gamgee's buggy trotted along the hill towards home. Bell Gamgee sat at the front, holding  
the reins of the two ponies, and the curly heads of the children were just visible as they peeked over the  
back of the wagon.   
  
"As I see," Bilbo said, smiling warmly. "It's good to have you back, Ham," he added, and he meant it.   
  
Hamfast (otherwise known as The Gaffer), was the owner of an inn just down the road, and had been  
employed as Bilbo's gardener for more than thirty years. He was honest and hardworking, and Bilbo  
had always prided himself on having the most prominent gardener in all the Shire attending his own  
flowers. Over the years, the bridge between classes has slowly been severed between them, for Bilbo  
knew the Gaffer was a good man, and having few close friends himself, it was good to have him  
around. Many times the gardener had turned down jobs at other homes, even some in Michael Delving,  
the wealthiest part of the Shire, for the sake of sticking by his master. Bilbo appreciated the Gaffer's  
loyalty to him all these years, and the two of them had formed a strong bond of friendship and trust as  
time passed. It was a great relief to have the Gamgee family home after the week long journey they'd  
taken for a relation's funeral.   
  
"As ye can see, we niver got a chance to change out of formal wear," Hamfast replied. He still wore the  
fine suit his wife had made right before they left for the funeral. It was unusual to see the stern, hard-  
working hobbit in such proper attire, and from the loosened cuff links and the sack slung over his  
shoulder, Bilbo could tell the hobbit was eager to remove himself from such snug clothing already.   
  
"I thought the funeral was yesterday, I hadn't expected you until tomorrow," Bilbo said.   
  
"We tried to get back as soon as we could. As I was goin' to say, we didn't mean to disturb you," the  
Gaffer said, apologetically.   
  
"No, no," Bilbo said, waving his hand. He realized sheepishly that the Gaffer had observed his  
disheveled attire, and was respectfully not mentioning it. "I was up late last night," he explained.  
  
"You're tired are ye, Master Baggins. I do hope, with us gone, you havn't gone n' tired yourself out by  
doin' everythin' on your own now, have you?" Mrs. Gamgee questioned, as she took the last strides up  
the hill. She greeted Bilbo with a warm, friendly smile.   
  
"Welcome back, Bell," Bilbo greeted, grinning at her tease. Mrs. Gamgee had a playful habit of poking  
at her master on the topic of how he managed completely on his own, or whether he put Frodo to work  
all the time.   
  
While Bilbo and the Gaffer were on friendly terms, they still maintained a certain civility that was proper  
between master and servant. Bell Gamgee, however, was more outspoken than her husband, and  
carried the same attribute of honesty along with it. She had always regarded Bilbo Baggins as a queer  
sort of creature, but felt fondness and pity for him, rather than the typical scorn. She teased him for his  
oddness in a rather light, humorous fashion, such as asking him when he would convert from a hermit to  
an adventurer again, and never failing to mention times when he needed assistance, such as the time he  
had taken ill and she, along with her daughters, had to give him sponge baths to cool him off while the  
fever ran its coarse. Over the years they had developed a warm, sarcastic relationship with each other.  
Their common tradition would be when Bill would pick at him for one of his oddities, and he would  
respond by ignoring her completely.   
  
"So what brought you back early?" he inquired, demonstrating the habit by pleasantly moving on to a  
new question.   
  
A short laugh escaped the Gaffer. "A bit of chaos erupted while we were away, sir. Ye see, the entire  
clan that came by to pay respects to Mrs. Gamgee's second cousin, Maybeline, turned into a brawl  
when they began fightin' over who got whats from Maybeline's belongin's. There was a discrepancy in  
her will over who got the rocking chair, and Mrs. Gamgee or another woman, and we ended up movin  
out, chair-less, before it became too severe."   
  
"A very wise choice," Bilbo laughed, nodding.   
  
"Yes, it was a bit more pleasant way to end the whole affair than how it started, if you get my meaning,"  
the Gaffer said, his tone tightening a little.   
  
Bilbo nodded, the mood to the conversation sliding into graver territory.   
  
"So how was the funeral?" he inquired, gently. He knew that the Gaffer nor Mrs. Gamgee had known  
Maybeline well, but a death in the family was always a great loss, even if it was a distance relation.  
There were only so many hobbits in the world, after all. A single death effected an entire clan.   
  
"It was hard on the children," Bell admitted, glancing down at the giggling children at the bottom of the  
hill with a sad smile. "For Sam especially. This was the first funeral he's been too, and being a more  
serious lad than Halfred and Hamson, it lowered his spirits some. He hoped to get back soon to see  
Frodo, we figured the lad would cheer him up."   
  
At the mention of his nephew, Bilbo recalled that he had not seen Frodo this morning. Typically, the lad  
was an early riser, and woke Bilbo if he was not already up. Remembering the accident the day before  
with the dish, Bilbo assumed Frodo was still asleep or in his room perhaps, afraid to go near his grumpy  
old uncle. Bilbo made a promise to himself to clear up the misunderstanding about yesterday the first he  
saw him.   
  
"I haven't seen the lad yet, he might have gone out before I woke, or he's still sleeping."  
  
"Raising that precious boy to be a lazy one like yourself, I see." Mrs. Gamgee shook her head, smiling.  
"Why not rouse the lad while we got unpack. Tell him I can make him breakfast with the boys if he  
wants some. Besides, we have presents for you and Frodo, Sir."   
  
"Send Sam on up, and I'll go wake Frodo," Bilbo called, waving as they headed back down the hill. .   
  
"Frodo!" he called, as he opened the door to Bag End. Silence drifted through the halls. As he glanced  
in the living room again, he was dismayed to see what a mess he'd made, and proceeded to tidy up  
while he waited for an answer. 'Good thing Bell didn't come in to witness this,' he thought, imagining  
Mrs. Gamgee's horrified face, as he folded the quilt and dusted up the charcoal that had spit out of the  
fire onto the rug.   
  
He called to Frodo again, and received no reply. 'Did he slip out early, or is he just ignoring me  
completely?' he wondered, the silence suddenly irritating him. While the absence of noise around him  
usually contained a calm, soothing presence, this morning it felt uncomfortable and still, as though some  
welcoming sound of a voice or a patter of feet were missing from the scene.   
  
Sighing, he tossed the quilt overtop the couch, and headed towards his nephew's closed door. 'This has  
gone far enough, I won't let him get worked up over nothing. An apology is all that should be needed,  
and then we can forget about it.'   
  
"Frodo lad, it's late, get up," he said, adopting a stern tone as he poked his head in the door.   
  
The room was dark and empty. For a moment he imagined Frodo might have slipped out early without  
waking him, perhaps leaving a note. But as he began to close the door again, he paused. A flutter of  
anxiety tickled in his rib cage as he saw Frodo's bed was made, and the pile of new clothes Bilbo had  
laid on his quilt the day before was still there as he had left it.   
  
It dawned on the hobbit, as he stood motionless in the doorway, his hand clenching the knob too tightly,  
that his nephew had not returned home last night. 'If he had, then he hadn't slept in his own bed.'   
  
A bit too hastily, Bilbo walked down the hall and out the door towards the Gamgees. He tried to reason  
with himself on the way that Frodo, still upset with what had happened, had probably gone with Merry  
to the Smials for the night. As he passed the kitchen, he glanced in to see the lovely dinner of ham,  
bread and strawberry juice lay just as he had left it, unmoved and untouched. The perfect picture of a  
good meal now sat soggy and sagging as it began to rot on the table.   
  
~*~  
  
"It's mine!" Daisy Gamgee screamed. Her pink, chubby face scrunched up into a scowl as she made a  
vicious yank at the cloth doll in her hand.   
  
"No, Aunt Rosie said I could have it!" yelled May, tugging back. Each girl had a firm hand on one of  
the doll's arms, and dug their heels into the stone floor as they pulled in their direction. Bell Gamgee  
emerged from the kitchen to see the commotion, and was sure with anymore tugging, they'd each have  
a piece of the doll once they pulled the arms off.   
  
"Girls, stop it!" she commanded. "Aunt Rosie gave it to you both to share. One of you can play with it  
later, while the one who gets it gets and helps me finish putting away the new dishes."   
  
"But I want it now!" they both whined at once, looking up at their mother with pouty expressions.   
  
"Well the doll itself wants to play with me now," Bell claimed, and she grabbed the doll from them to  
hold in her own arms. She smiled down upon her two young daughters as they cried out. "The doll  
wants to be with me right now while I fix up the kitchen; you two go finish unpacking."   
  
Both girls glared at each other before turning their backs and heading to their rooms, dragging their bags  
along with them. Laying the doll down, Bell fastened her wavy brown hair behind her with a clip as she  
proceeded back to the kitchen. She had not expected they would arrive home with so much extra  
baggage, but her brother had insisted she take many of the quilts, dolls and sewing kits Maybeline had  
left behind. While Hamfast had run down to the inn to open up shop again, she had put herself in charge  
of getting everything unpacked and everyone re-settled. Even though they had only been gone a few  
days, the house had already gathered a fine layer of dust.   
  
'Such a shame, and I left everything so tidy too,' she thought, as she began placing cups back into the  
cupboard.  
  
"Ma, Master Baggins comes down the lane!" she heard Halfred call from outside. Glancing out from the  
far edge of the window pane, Bell saw Master Baggins coming rather quickly down the path. Finishing  
up with the cups, she managed to brush off the dust that had collected on her light blue dress, and was  
ready to greet Bilbo when he finally reached the door.   
  
"Sir, I thought Sam was coming up there to see you," she replied, as she opened to the door to let him  
in. Bilbo nodded to her in greeting, and walked in, his hand fidgeting with the pocket of his vest. "Is  
everything all right?" she asked, closing the door behind him.   
  
"Not exactly," he said, a bit reluctantly. His brown eyes were hard and they glanced rapidly around the  
room. "Frodo didn't come home last night."   
  
Bell frowned, uncertainly. "Are ye sure, Sir? He could 've slipped out before you woke. You know  
how the lad loves to go off on his own."   
  
Bilbo shook his head firmly, although his eyes began wandering more frantically. "No. I checked his  
bed. It hasn't been slept in. Clothes I put on his pillow yesterday are still there. He never came home  
last night."   
  
This new information visibly alarmed Mrs. Gamgee, and her frowned deepened. "Well, what do you  
suppose could have happened to the lad?" she asked. The well-meaning teasing from earlier  
disappeared from her now, as she attempted to console her master not to worry himself too much. She  
knew how easily he could get worked up over things, large or small.   
  
"I think he might have gone with Merry to the Smials," the older hobbit said. He spoke with a calm,   
unwavering tone, as though surely that had to be where Frodo was, but Bell was quick to notice that he  
had begun to fidget with the pockets of his vest, as he often did when he was nervous.  
  
"Oh, I'm sure that's it, Sir," Bell replied, giving him a reassuring smile. "After all, where else could the  
boy have strayed?"   
  
"I don't know," he said, slowly. "I would think he might have at least told me, or surely someone would  
have been sent to let me know he was staying there. I doubt a message could have come while I was  
asleep, Hamfast woke me up easy enough -"   
  
"Well why in the world would Frodo have not said something?" Bell exclaimed. A short silence passed,  
as Bilbo paused in response to her question. She studied him. "Sir, did something happen while we  
were gone?"   
  
The shadow of guilt that passed over him was not lost on her. It looked as though he had been caught  
stealing from the cookie jar the way he remained in a stand-still, his silence testimony enough that  
something was wrong.  
  
"Frodo and I had a bit of a disagreement yesterday morning," he admitted, placing his hands in his  
pockets to avoid fidgeting with them again, knowing she had probably noticed that as well. "I was in a  
rush to get luncheon prepared because the Sackville-Bagginses were coming to discuss my heir, and I  
was trying to chase the lad out the door, lest he cross paths with them," he said, emphasizing his  
relatives sourly. Mrs. Gamgee nodded for him to continue, knowing all too well the bad blood between  
Bilbo and Lobelia. "Frodo didn't seem to understand, however, why I wanted him gone. He became  
upset that I didn't want him there to meet his relatives, and grew worse when I was in too much of a  
hurry to say why. At one point he tried to help put some things on the table, and ended up dropping a  
dish. I wasn't angry with him for that, really, but all I could think about was how was I going to prepare  
a dish again before they came, and I was cross with him. He left quietly, and I haven't seen him since."   
  
"Surely sir, you don't think he might 've run away, now do ye?" Mrs. Gamgee asked, searching his  
face.   
  
The older hobbit didn't say anything. The question seemed too much to answer at once, whether he  
didn't know himself or just didn't want to admit it. After a tense moment, his eyes met hers, and she  
could see the guilt and worry within them.   
  
Mrs. Gamgee was thoughtful for a moment. She had sensed tension between her master and Frodo for  
some time now, although she didn't feel it was a subject she had any right to question. In her years at  
living next to Bag End, she had always known Bilbo Baggins to be a secretive, but good-hearted   
hobbit, who was as fond of a good pipe as he was of his independence. It had surprised her at first  
when he had brought his nephew to live with him, for he was a bachelor who enjoyed his freedom and  
solitude, and obviously had no idea what it meant to bring up a tweenager. As time passed, she could  
see Bilbo's hesitation in giving up his old habits for the sake of his nephew. He continued to live as  
independently as possible, burying himself in Bag End for weeks before journeying out for a few days,  
and Frodo was more often spending time with Sam and the rest of the Gamgees than being with his  
uncle. For all these reasons, Bell had suspected her master was not adjusting well to having the position  
as a parental figure, and she felt for both of them. Neither seemed to know exactly how to live with the  
other. But despite that, Bell knew how much Bilbo loved Frodo, and his love had been the only reason  
needed to bring him to Bag End. With time, she had been sure things would change between them.  
After all, Frodo had only been living with Bilbo for a little over three months.   
  
"I'm sure that's not it, sir," she assured him. "I'm sure Frodo's back with Merry at the Smials,  
terrorizing the Tooks and will be sent home soon enough." Bilbo nodded, and though he said nothing,  
the crease in his brow relaxed a little as though he were slightly appeased.   
  
  
At that moment the Gaffer returned from the Inn. He entered his home, while calling back for Halfred to  
bring in the last of the baskets from the wagon. As he approached his wife and master, he picked up on  
the discomforting silence, and inquired if something was wrong.   
  
His voice broke through the silence, and Bell turned, a little startled. She managed a smile. "Master  
Baggins is just upset, Frodo went to Merry's to stay last night and didn't leave word, the silly goose."  
  
The Gaffer frowned. "Bell I think you're mistaken. Frodo isn't at the Smials." Bilbo looked up, his eyes  
wide and pressing for an explanation. "Remem'er we passed the Smials headin back here. Well I  
stopped to say good morning to Mrs. Took, who was helping load Merry's belongings, for the lad was  
going back to Buckland alone. From what I heard, Frodo wasn't there."   
  
The air vanished from the room as the Gaffer spoke, and a small fear that Bilbo had started to feel since  
he had called to Frodo that morning, and received no answer, suddenly began to build into a hard knot  
in his stomach. The Gamgees watched as the color drained slowly from their master's face.   
  
~*~  
  
"You're growing up fast, my lad. It's been good having you here," Paladin Took said, giving Merry a  
respectful pat on the shoulder.   
  
"It's been good seeing you too. Thank you for having me, Aunt Eglantine," Merry replied, reaching up  
to give his aunt a hug.   
  
Eglantine swatted him with her fan in annoyance. "Oh, I hope you enjoyed having yourself over indeed,  
Meriadoc. After all the mushrooms you raided from the pantry, and nearly choked little Pippin by giving  
him too many, you should thank me indeed." Pausing for a moment to see her nephew's bright brown  
eyes drop from hers, she smiled before giving in and wrapping her arms round him in a tight, loving hug.   
  
"But I did have a great time!" he protested, flashing her his best waggish grin. "And I wasn't choking  
Pippin, he was eating them on his own. I really had no part, Auntie, except being a good hobbit and  
taking care of my cousin. I couldn't help it that he wanted mushrooms around the same time of day as  
I!"   
  
"Goodness Eglantine, he's got Saradoc's knack for talking his way of situations already," Paladin  
muttered, turning his head slightly to not allow his nephew to see his grin. It wouldn't be fit for his young  
nephew to see he'd brought a smile to the stern, commanding Thain of Tookland.   
  
"Well, I'm glad Pippin got a chance to see you again, it's been almost two years. You were really  
wonderful with him. I hope you had fun yourself."   
  
"I did," Merry promised, giving them one last hug. "Is Pippin still asleep?"   
  
  
"Yes, you tired the boy out last night with all your running around. You said your good-byes before  
bed, right?"  
  
"We did," Merry said, recalling the terrible regret he felt as he'd hugged his little cousin good-bye. He  
had only stayed at the Smials for a week, but felt truly sorry then that he'd written to his parents and  
asked them to bring him back to Buckland.   
  
Unfortunately, his father had sent his servant Bill to come fetch Merry that very morning, so he had no  
choice but to go with the plan he'd made after being stranded by Frodo. Getting up upon the wagon  
with Bill, he waved good-bye to his aunt and uncle, and the buggy lurched forwards to home.   
  
"Greetings, Meriadoc. How was your visit with the Tooks?" Bill inquired.   
  
"It was wonderful," he replied, and he meant it.   
  
Overall, his trip had been a success. Looking back on the past few days, the bitter way he and Frodo  
had parted at Bag End and his cousin's failure to come the next morning seemed to have been lost  
among all the great times he'd had at the Smials.   
  
Before he had gone to Bag End, he had spent a few days at the Smials, living and meeting with relatives  
he had not seen since he was just a toddler in diapers. It had been a harrowing experience at first; on  
arriving, he had been passed through the mighty arms of each aunt, uncle and older cousin, who  
suffocated him with hugs, loosened his skin from pinching his cheek, and he was forced to listen as  
some relatives cooed over how precious he was while others snorted, calling him a wild, half-witted  
Brandybuck. Somehow he managed to escape the crushing arms, the wet, disgusting kisses and the  
insults of his heritage, and found his way to the solitude of the nursery. The Took's oldest daughters,  
Pervincia, Pearl and Pimpernel were all grown up now, and Merry was relieved to find the room empty,  
with the exception of his young cousin, Peregrin. The five year old was confined in a crib when Merry  
first saw him, holding onto the bars while he stared curiously at Merry through a dark, disheveled mass  
of curls.   
  
"You must be Pippin," he said, walking over to ruffle his cousin's hair. "I'm Merry, your cousin on your  
Mother's side." The pale little face simply continued to look up at him with wide, eager eyes, and Merry  
recalled his aunt telling him Pippin was not much of a talker yet, but was very clever in sneaking around  
silently. 'Perhaps he can assist me when he's older in raiding the mushroom barrel,' Merry imagined, as  
he gentle disengaged his hand from the tiny hand that clutched it.   
  
"I have to go now Pippin, I'm sure I'll be back for refuge again," he said, exasperated. He was in the  
middle of heading towards the door, devising a plan of how he could grab a few mushrooms from the   
kitchen before dinner, when his little cousin let out a deafening wail. It was a sound more cranky and  
powerful than anything he could have imagined coming from a five year old, and it effectively stunned  
him from moving another inch.   
  
He had turned in bewilderment, and the small, innocent expression of his cousin's face, now smiling and  
happy, warned him enough that his cousin wasn't intending him on letting him go anywhere. Merry  
laughed nervously at his silent but demanding cousin.   
  
"Is that you, Merry?" Pippin's mother, Eglantine, had poked her head through the door after hearing the  
scream. "Pippin has not been causing you any trouble, has he?" she asked, giving her little son a tender  
kiss as she entered the room.  
  
"Not much, although he does like to scream when someone tries to leave," Merry admitted, still shaken  
from the wail.   
  
"Well that means he likes you. Why not take him around with you, as you visit with your Uncle Paladin?  
I grow worried letting him out on his own, he's always getting into mischief somehow, and being so  
quiet with the chaos outside, he might be trampled. It would be nice if you could just take his hand and  
lead him around a bit."   
  
The task had seemed a bit tedious at first, but Merry quickly found taking Pippin around with him  
benefitted him in more ways than one. While having his little cousin with him, he was able to avoid half  
the attention of his relatives, since they were never too bored to coo over Pippin as well. Pippin  
apparently wasn't eager to learn to talk, but quickly learned his name and called him "Merr" whenever  
he wanted something or needed to grab Merry's attention.   
  
For the next few days he and Pippin had become quite a pair. The little hobbit enjoyed following his  
older cousin around, and Merry found him quite useful in making mischief. For instance, his sweet,  
innocent cousin could unassumingly wander into the kitchen and raid the mushroom barrel for both of  
them without appearing suspicious. Merry taught him, in a variety of ways how to sneak food and candy  
while the older hobbits weren't looking, and in doing so he felt proud to pass down many of the tricks  
his cousin Frodo had taught him.   
  
While he could have spent his time playing with some of his older cousins, he couldn't help but enjoy  
Pippin's company above them all. He was such a cheerful, rambunctious little lad, and although he was  
younger than Merry, there was rarely a boring time between them. Merry had even wanted to take  
Pippin with him to Bag End and introduce him to Frodo, but Pippin's parents had insisted no.  
  
After Frodo had not shown, Merry had returned to the Smials and had taken the first opportunity he  
could to writing home and asking to have someone get him. The letter had been sent immediately, and  
he had gone into the library to sulk. His feelings of hurt and dejection had not lasted however, once  
Pippin discovered he had come home, and attacked him with a hug and dared try and tickle his cousin  
into submission. Merry had never felt so happy to see anyone in his life, and all the bad feelings of hurt  
and dejection were lost in the warm welcome from his cousin. They spent his last night in the nursery,  
rolling a ball back and forth, and Pippin listened wide eyed, mouth open, as Merry told him the story of  
the princess and the dragon, one of Bilbo's favorites.   
  
  
It was a relief to find that the missing mushrooms from dinner and the chair he had broken while running  
around had effectively ruined his reputation with his relatives, and he suffered less than half the kisses  
and crushing hugs of good-byes as he had upon arrival. His Aunt Eglantine and Uncle Paladin had  
seemed genuinely sad to see him go, most likely due to his swift friendship with Pippin. They  
encouraged him to return as soon as he could be spared from Buckland. His young cousin had been  
especially tearful as he left, and in the first long sentence he had said to him asked, "Merr, come back  
soon and play with me." Merry had given Pippin a loving hug before he fell asleep.   
  
Sighing, Merry leaned back and looked out idly at the passing lands. Tookland was a very pretty  
region. Its hills were not nearly as tall as those in Hobbiton, but glided upon and down the land in small  
rolls, cornfields and meadows spreading over them. The road they traveled on headed north before  
snaking around towards the Buckland, so Merry could see the road that branched off towards  
Hobbiton on the way. As he looked out to see the Hill from a distance, he felt sorry again that he'd  
parted with Frodo on such a bad note. It wasn't his fault that Frodo hadn't met him, but he couldn't lie  
to himself and say he hadn't partly deserved it. Again, it was too late to do anything about it. He was  
already halfway home.   
  
As Merry continued to stare out at passing homes and farms, he began to notice a sudden disturbance  
in the casual movement of farmers upon the fields and hobbits sitting quietly outside their doors. He  
caught the sight of a hobbit rushing rather frantically from a farm nearby, and say something to a few  
hobbits on the field that caused them to break from their work, and group together before another  
hobbit rushed to the next farm, and altered another group of listeners. Someone else was rushing down  
a long role of hobbit holes to his right, and at each stop someone emerged and headed towards one of  
the groups. It was like a ripple or a wave effect, Merry thought, as he wondered what could have  
happened to halt life in the Shire like this. He noticed that two groups had called to each other, and both  
had abandoned their work and were making their way west, towards the Smials.   
  
Merry glanced up at Bill, who returned his inquiring look. "Could you imagine there's been a fire, or  
trouble of some sorts?" he asked, more to himself it seemed than to the young Brandybuck. Merry  
shrugged as he continued to observe one the hobbits rushing off the fields.   
  
"Fredegar!" Bill called, recognizing a hobbit that was coming across the road a short distance ahead of  
them. "What's happening? Master Brandybuck and I have begun to see swarms gathering and heading  
towards the Smials all morning."   
  
The hobbit paused for a moment to catch his breath, and leaned against the wheel of the buggy. "It's  
not the Smials we've been called, it's Hobbiton. Apparently there's a lost hobbit wandering round there  
somewhere, and we've been asked to help and find it."   
  
"Indeed, and what's with the entire Shire coming to rescue one hobbit?"   
  
"You remember Bilbo Baggins? The crazy hobbit who disappeared all those years back, who lives on  
the Hill? Well it's his nephew who's missing, and everyone's eager to see what's happened, and if  
there's a reward for the one who finds him. Bilbo Baggins is supposedly rich, you know."   
  
The mention of Bilbo had started Merry, and he feared his uncle may have run off again and taken  
Frodo with him. But any such fears were dashed quickly into greater, and darker ones, as he heard the  
last part. It was Frodo, and Frodo alone, who had disappeared.   
  
Springing from his seat as though it had suddenly caught on fire, Merry reached down to grip the  
shoulder of the hobbit. "What do you mean missing, what happened?"   
  
The hobbit shrugged, warily. "I don't rightly know. All the details were forgotten by the time the news  
came here. Alls I know is they think the lad's run away, and everyone's hoping Baggins will give a few  
gold coins to the one who finds him. So that's where I'll be."   
  
With that, the hobbit tore away from Merry's loosened grasp, and joined another hobbit who was  
heading across the field. Merry fell back, stunned, against the seat, staring out at nothing.   
'Frodo ran away? But he couldn't have, why? Why would he run away?'   
  
Reality, dark and bitter hit him, halting him from his stupid protestations. He knew better than to forget  
what Frodo had said to him, about how lonely and afraid he felt recently, and Merry couldn't forget the  
far off look in his cousin's eyes as he gazed out at the land beyond him.   
  
Bill had paused for a moment to take in the news. Grabbing the reins again, he turned to see the lad's  
face had numbed. "You reckon we should head home and let everyone at Buckland know the news?  
It'll get there faster than the passing from door to door."   
  
'He told me he was lonely, he told me Bilbo didn't want him, he looked at me horrified when he said he  
feared Bilbo was going to send him back to Brandy Hall. And you were selfish enough to leave him like  
that.' The blood began rushing madly through his veins, and jerking himself out of his daze, he grabbed  
the reins from Bill.   
  
"No, Bill. We have to get back to Brandy Hall."   
  
"But sir, that's hours away!" the servant protested. "And if you don't mind my sayin, what use are you  
and me to the brigade of helpers goin' already?"   
  
"We have to get back to Bag End, Bilbo doesn't know what happened," Merry said, his voice  
wavering. Bill wanted desperately to explain to the young tweenager the stupidity of going off to Bag  
End, but he knew the hard determination and hot anger that brimmed underneath the young  
Brandybuck, so he said nothing and allowed him to turn the buggy around.   
  
It was a long, restless journey, as Merry lurched the ponies forward and swatted at them in an attempt  
to make them go faster. As they made their way up the road past the Smials again, Merry could see  
members of his family there were emerging from the hole and making their way towards the Hill. It  
began to grow dark, and Merry could see torches being lit here and there, the shadows of hobbits  
silhouetted against the fiery glow. They were coming from all directions, from the rich prominent holes  
of the Smials to the poorer region of Bywater, all heading towards the single location, Bag End.   
  
Merry's blood was simmering in his veins, quickening his heart and building up as a great pressure in his  
head. It was a terrible, restless journey, with seemingly no end as he continued towards that one spot  
that was now brilliantly lit in the distance. From the number of torches lit there, it almost looked as  
though Bag End were on fire. And as Merry continued the steady journey towards the place aflame, he  
was hopeless to do anything but swat at the ponies, observe the bright torches, and confront his own  
guilt, that this was his fault.   
  
'What happened to Frodo make him run away? Was it me, was it what I said? Did he and Bilbo have a  
fight? Was he just tired of being lonely, and my leaving set him off?' All forms of guilt and fear swarmed  
around the young hobbit as the darkness of night descended, and the one coherent thought that pushed  
him on towards the responsibility and shame that was his own was, "What have I done?"   
  
The buggy was unable to make it farther than the Hill with all the other wagons and hobbits rushing  
around, barring the way. Leaping off the seat, Merry made a fast dash through the crowd, ducking  
under the fence and weaving through the mass of onlookers. Several groups banned together outside on  
Bilbo's lawn. Merry could see a few of the wealthiest hobbits from Michael Delving, as well as some of  
the poorest looking farmers just a few feet from each other, collecting in their own circles. Merry picked  
up a few words, such as "Go towards Buckland," or "Cover the creek by Bywater," as he listened to  
the mess of conversations.   
  
The windows along Bag End were glowing from the inside, and as Merry pushed his way inside, he  
could see the flurry of activity from outside had broken into his uncle's home as well. He had never seen  
so many people in Bilbo's home at once. It had always been a quiet and comfortable place, but with  
now looked rowdy and festering with Boffins, Proudfeets, and all clans of the Shire planning where to  
search for Frodo in the morning, whether that be the hills by Bywater or the valleys near Michael  
Delving.   
  
Once inside, Merry searched the rooms and faces in an attempt to find Bilbo. In every room there were  
so many hobbits arguing over where to search, and how much they were getting paid to do this, that  
Merry found it hopeless in trying to locate his uncle among the strange faces. He was still a tweenager,  
and therefore shorter than the adults there, and each time he tried to pull on the arm of someone or  
inquire where Bilbo Baggins was, they shoved him away, disinterested in his plea.   
  
Yanking at his own hair in frustration, Merry moved his head from side to side, searching the faces for  
the one he would recognize. As entered the living room, he caught sight of one young hobbit with honey  
blonde curls hastily picking up empty glasses and dishes. As he was exiting the room, Merry caught his  
arm, relieved to be able to catch someone's attention.   
  
"What's going on here, where's Bilbo?" Merry demanded, pulling the young hobbit aside.   
  
"He's around, sir, I don't reckon where at the moment." At that moment a tall hobbit, carrying an unlit  
torch and a knapsack cut through them, and Merry quickly darted into a corner of the room, dragging  
the young hobbit with him. He could see weary sadness in his brown eyes, and wondered why he was  
busy with such simple tasks as cleaning up a room in all this chaos.   
  
"Who are you?" he asked him.   
  
"Sam Gamgee, sir. I help my father tend the gardens here at Bag End."   
  
"Then you should know what's going on, what's happened? Have they found Frodo?" Merry  
demanded, grasping his firm arms tightly.   
  
"I know not, sir," the boy said. His face suddenly broke, and Merry could see a release of tears gushing  
just under the surface of his features. The older hobbit felt bad, suddenly, that he'd broken this boy out  
of his work. It seemed as though the process of cleaning up the dishes had brought his mind away from  
the worry that now lived in his eyes. "My Master's frantic, and they haven't found a sign of Frodo yet.  
Many groups are heading out now to look for him, as you see. Master Baggins is in the den I believe,  
though."   
  
Releasing Sam's arms, Merry thanked him quickly before darting again through the crowd and into the  
den, where there was a crowd from Bywater just coming out. The fire was lit and burned violently in the  
hearth, and from the doorway Merry could see the dark outline of his uncle from where he sat on an  
armchair. A few hobbits, wearing dark cloaks in the color of navy, a particular shade prominent in  
members of the Michael Delving region, talked over a map, and gestured to the silent form by the fire.  
  
Pain burned in Merry's heart to see that among all the commotion of searching for Frodo, no one was  
bothering to sit and comfort the boy's uncle as he waited in dread for news. The hobbit sat with his  
back turned to the door, his body hunched forwards, his head in his old, weary hands. As Merry  
approached him he took a minute to gather himself, swallowing the lump in his throat, before putting a  
shaky hand on his uncle's shoulder and saying his name.   
  
~*~  
  
Tbc  
  
Do you ever make an outline, quiet brief and uncomplicated, of a story, and it turns into something the  
length of a novel? Well that's the explanation for why this took so long. My apologizes, I hope it was  
worth it. 


	7. A Letter Arrives

Title: Treasures  
Author: BellaMonte  
Disclaimer: I own not any of the LoTR characters, I merely write them for sport.   
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: Gossip spread through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins possessed a vast wealth. A few ruffians  
attempt to seize that fortune by kidnaping his beloved nephew and holding him for ransom.   
  
Notes: IMPORTANT: I want everyone to know now in advance that there is probably going to be a  
change in the story's rating within a few chapters. The PG-13 is going to be moved up to R, as I had  
first intended. Hence, some bad things are up ahead and I'd rather be safe to explain now, rather than  
surprise anyone, about the change. This chapter is still at the PG-13 rating. I hope I'm not losing  
anyone's attention in doing this, but I thought for the story's sake it would make it a bit more, say,  
interesting, and I hoped the story's summary itself alluded to dark things. To those who enjoy reading  
angst, as I'm assuming most of you do, I've decided to intensify it in the future. I hope you enjoy the  
developments up ahead!  
  
One last thing I wanted to mention is that as of one month from now, I'm going to begin college. A lot of  
my time will obviously be dedicated towards school work then, and much of what I'll need financially to  
stay in college will coincide with how well I do academically. Hense, the updates will be spaced farther  
apart. But I'll be continuing this, of course, to the very end, and like I said there's plenty of dark,  
twisted developments ahead. As always, please bug me about the content, the characterization, the  
relationships, the simple little details, the issues of class, parenting, friendships, etc. I'm intent on  
becoming an English major (naturally) so please let me know if this story's sounding anything like a  
genuine book, or whether there's mistakes and you can tell I'm trying too hard, please let me know!  
Your reviews are wonderful inspiration and productive criticism. Love you all!  
  
  
To my loyal reviewers:   
  
Claudia: I'm glad I'm not boring you to death with the details, chapter lengths, etc. You want more  
Frodo? All right, comin' up soon enough, I'll have that order in a jiffy. (Goes away for a few days to  
write up the next bit.)   
  
Katrine: Thank you for putting me on your favorites! I love 'Walk On' so much (taps foot impatiently)  
and I can't wait for the next chapter! :)   
  
Lily Baggins: I'm so glad you're enjoying this fic. I don't think I've mentioned it to you yet, but at the  
initial time I thought of this story, I didn't think I had the time to work on it, and I was planning to give  
the story idea to you. I knew from reading and absolutely loving 'Troublemakers,' and 'The Pine-  
Woods Excursion' that you'd do a fabulous job with it. But I saw your list of upcoming stories and  
thought, oh dear I don't want to burden her with too much work either! I love the new one, Mathom,  
btw, it's excellent.   
  
Myfanwy: Dahling, I'm so sorry! Here's a tissue (hands tissue). I think I'm going to need one myself  
now, I feel so bad taking a week with each chapter. I hope this is a comforting pillow for the time being,  
or maybe another tissue jerker, not sure which, but I hope you like it! (Gives big hug) Love ya, and  
thanks for the feedback.   
  
Tathar: When's that letter coming? Hmm, I don't know (rubs chin, taps foot.) Not sure, maybe it might  
be a good idea to start scanning down the story, and hey! There it is! Enjoy, love ya!   
  
TTTurtle : I'm glad you like complex stories, so do I. And that's what this is going to be beginning to  
end, I'm glad it appeals to your similar taste. I hope you like new chapter!   
  
ThE iNsAnE oNe : :P on Bilbo? Heehee, I'm treating him a teensy bit differently than that, but I hope  
it's still to your liking. Thanks for the feedback, and again it's such an interesting journey writing your  
name :)   
  
Niphrandl: Hope this came fast enough! I whipped it up snappy like, and am now waiting impatiently on  
the edge of the Brandywine for a certain hobbit in a sack to come to :)   
  
Shirebound: Thanks for the lovely review! And yes, I love the dialogue in your stories, description's just  
always something I've needed to create the surroundings round my story, but dialogue's just as  
important of course. As to Bilbo and the horrific note? I think it might be a good idea to take a stroll  
down the page, call it a treasure hunt, all you have to do is follow the lines (bad joke I know). Hope you  
like!   
  
Manc Admirer: As always, you've moved me greatly with your review. It means a lot that you pick up  
on the description, character relationships, etc. that I take the time to write out, it makes the effort all the  
more worthwhile. I know I'm portraying the hobbit population as somewhat greedy at the moment. I'm  
not trying to paint them in a very bad light, it's just depicting how they might react to the situation  
without, as you say, knowing the severity of the situation. In writing this I thought if something like this  
really happened, than the general public might treat it as exciting rather than dangerous, just as  
kidnapings are dramatized on tv. The general public will be a presence throughout the story, and as the  
truth comes out their sentiments will of course change. Thanks again for the awesome feedback.   
  
~*~   
  
Four long, weary days of searching went by. It had not been very long after Frodo was declared  
missing that a near army of hobbits collected near Bag End. How they all came to hear of Frodo's  
disappearance so quickly, Bilbo would never know. In truth, it had been Hugo Boffins, a neighbor of  
the Gamgees who had been passing by and caught May Gamgee's worried voice saying Bilbo Baggins'  
nephew was missing, and presumed ran away, that had ignited the news. The Boffins, a curious and  
gossiping bunch, were eager to pass the story to the first hobbits they met, which happened to be a  
family of Bolgers out on a stroll. They carried the news down the Hill, and from there it spread out into  
the land for those who cared to hear an interesting happening. And, as gossip is often spread faster  
when the news is strange, and grows stranger as it moves along and new strangeness is added to it, the  
news that began down the lane stretched across the Shire within a few hours.   
  
By the evening when Merry arrived at Bag End, the Hill was crawling with spectators, eager to hear the  
entire story and observe the home of the hobbit that supposedly harbored treasures and jewels in its lair.   
Sadly few came to actually help out, being more interested in hearing the tale of Frodo's disappearance  
than sympathizing for a runaway hobbit; once Bag End was observed, and those who went inside found  
no storage of treasures, more than half the party left. Those who stayed helped Bilbo organize a search  
party for that morning. It was a sore foot for Bilbo that so few hobbits were concerned, but he   
swallowed his anger for the sake of finding Frodo, with as much as help as he could get.  
  
The next morning the hobbits traced around the Hill, exploring the meadows and fields just outlining  
Hobbiton. Of the party, many of Bilbo's relatives who were Bagginses, as well as Tooks, Bolgers, and  
a few acquaintances he'd made in Michael Delving, spread out in all directions, calling Frodo's name  
and inquiring to others whether they had seen the young tweenager in the past day. They imagined  
Frodo had either gotten lost or was simply wandering around somewhere. But the first day's search  
proved surprisingly fruitless; no trace of Frodo was found.   
  
On the second day the search spread out farther, covering territory as far as the Smials, which was  
presumably the farthest Frodo could have gotten on his own. By that time the word had reached  
Buckland that Frodo Baggins, son of Drogo and Primula Baggins, had ran away and was yet to be  
found. The news was received by his Brandybuck relatives at Brandy Hall with a combination of worry  
and scorn. Among his aunts, uncles and cousins, there were several who rushed to join the search party,  
genuinely concerned for the welfare of their nephew, while others mocked the lad for having a tendency  
to make trouble. But of those who cared and those who cared less, there were few who were actually  
surprised by the news.   
  
After three days of searching, the hobbits began to grow weary, suspicious and resentful of helping  
Bilbo Baggins. There was simply no evidence of Frodo Baggins in any field or up any tree they  
searched. It was though the lad had vanished, and even the most logical hobbit had trouble imagining  
what could have happened. New gossip arose soon after, as to why the little hobbit ran away in the first  
place.   
  
  
"So who is this Bilbo Baggins again?" a fellow inquired, while sharing a drink at the Ivy Inn.   
  
  
"I hear he's mad," replied Ted Sandyman, the miller in Hobbiton. "He went off once with that strange  
wizard with the staff once, and came back peculiar. You cannot hold normal conversation with the  
fellow. I'll bet the hobbit couldn't stand him so he ran for the hills, lest he go mad himself."   
  
"I hear the nephew's mad too," Belladonna Proudfeet piped in. "The lad may have the Baggin's name,  
but he's half a Brandybuck. Why those folk are mad to begin with, living right next to the Old Forest.  
The lad ran back there, I'll bet."   
  
"Perhaps Baggins couldn't stand him, and got rid of him somehow, and all this running around is just an  
amusement for 'im."   
  
Some of the stories Bilbo overheard were as bizarre as Gandalf turning Frodo into a frog by accident,  
or he himself giving his nephew to the elves, and other nonsense. It was sorely tempting to grab a hold  
of Sting and chase out his pestering neighbors, but he restrained himself, knowing they were helping him  
search for Frodo.   
  
'Frodo, where on Middle Earth could you possibly be?'  
  
His agitation grew stronger at each passing day, as he was forced to cater to the two dozen guests who  
remained at his home, poked around Bag End, shot him suspicious glances, and meddled with his  
belongings.   
  
He cursed himself for being selfish in worrying about the state of his own home and the discomfort of  
having so many visitors when he should be worrying about Frodo. But oh! 'Don't fiddle with that plate,'  
he spat silently to Bessie Bolger. 'Don't try to get in that room,' 'Don't whisper about that back  
hallway.' In the four days of hopeless searching, helpers dissipating and hopes fading, Bilbo had never  
felt so drawn to his books of dragons and magical forests, the comforts of his illustrations and his warm  
chair in front of the fire.   
  
'Did burying yourself in such comforts not cause this whole mess in the first place?' a bitter voice spoke  
in his head. For that, Bilbo retained his silence and continued taking orders from the Boffins, as they  
requested some tea before going out again.   
  
~*~  
  
Merry and Sam sat together in the kitchen, both disinterested in the steaming meals in front of them.  
Mrs. Gamgee had instructed them both to take a day off from searching for the day, just as Bilbo was,  
and had made them each a meal in hopes to ignite their appetite.  
  
As Merry stared down at the pink ham, little cabbages and thick chicken broth, he tried to bring some  
memories of what delicious food tasted like. But he knew even if he did eat it, it would taste bland and  
sour as most of what he'd taken the past few days had. Instead he settled for staring at it with tired  
eyes.  
  
A week before, Merry would have considered it the best of luck to be actually persuaded to help  
himself to the Baggin's pantry, and not take the risk of raiding it himself. As he'd opened the door to the  
large space, his eyes had widened into saucers at the stores of food his uncle kept safely tucked away.  
Why, Bilbo had a frosting cake baked that Merry hadn't eaten since his last birthday, there were three  
jars full of the berry jam that was so expensive, he even had those spices that only grew near the Old  
Forest. Yes, a week ago this opportunity would have been a feast indeed, but at the moment he was  
feeling too sick with worry to eat. Anxiety had built a nice comfy home in the pit of his stomach, and all  
he had managed to swallow was some bread and a few cups of tea.   
  
'It's sad irony,' he thought, as he concentrated on poking at the mushy string beans on his plate.   
  
Glancing across the table, he saw Sam wasn't eating much either. Merry was right in his assumption  
earlier that the young gardener enjoyed hard work as a distraction. Sam had gone out with Bilbo every  
day, walking the trails and pointing out particular spots where Frodo often liked to go, and even when  
he came home at night Merry was told he sat up in bed thinking as to where he might have missed  
looking. The determination Sam had towards finding his friend led him, as it led Merry, into complete  
exhaustion, and the both of them had been persuaded to stay home for the day. But the lack of work  
seemed to depress Sam further, having nothing to bring his mind away from the steadily increasing fears.  
Merry could tell the young hobbit was suffering, from his inability to keep his attention straight between  
glancing at the window and plucking at his mashed potatoes.   
  
"Come on, eat, or Mrs. Gamgee will get mad, especially if I eat it," he said, persuasively. Merry needed  
someone to talk to right now, or at least something to break the stiff silence between them.  
  
"I don't want it sir, you can have it if you're hungry."   
  
"What?" Merry exaggerated his surprise. "You don't like apple bread? Why, that's ridiculous, Sam!  
How do you Baggins and Gamgees live out here without apple pie? You'd better learn to like it now,  
because dinner's going to be apple custard as well, I heard Uncle Bilbo say."   
  
A faint smile crept into young hobbit's face, and he bit the insides of his cheeks, shyly. "No, we like  
apples here. I love em myself. My Mum makes apple pie when they're in season."   
  
Merry raised an eyebrow in interest, anything to keep the young tweenager in conversation was  
becoming a relief. It took his mind partly away from the consuming fear, and it looked as though it was  
having the same effect on Sam. "Really? How do you get your apples around here, considering they all  
come from around Buckland where I live."   
  
Sam shrugged, still not meeting his gaze, but his tone sounding less detached. "I have an aunt on my  
Da's side who visits us now n' then, and she always brings 'em. My sis, May, always asks for 'em."   
  
  
Merry nodded. Already they'd mentioned several things that reminded him Frodo, and both were  
thinking about him, but neither one had the heart to bring his name up. The voices of Bilbo and Milo  
Bracegirdle, a hobbit who had come from Michael Delving, suddenly erupted from the living room, and  
Merry and Sam paused from their conversation to listen. Bilbo was demanding that they search around  
Bywater again, while Milo refused, saying they'd passed that area every day and searching again was  
useless. The two hobbits glanced at each other sourly, as though nothing more could possibly go wrong.   
  
Bitter words were flung back and forth for several moments before Milo threatened he was returning  
home and Bilbo could search himself. Then the door slammed shut and silence flooded Bag End from  
his departure.   
  
Bilbo entered the kitchen a moment later, one hand clamped tightly over his eyes, whether out of  
exhaustion, anger or tears, the two hobbits didn't ask. What was the point of bringing up how tired and  
frustrated and lost they all were. They'd bother with that once Frodo was found.   
  
The small collections of hobbits still searching were gone for the day, leaving the three alone for the first  
time since it had started. Bilbo stood with his back to Merry and Sam as he wordlessly prepared himself  
a cup of tea. The two young hobbits listened to the sharp clatter of the spoon stirring against the cup.   
  
"How are you lads holding up?" he finally asked, turning and continuing to stir his cup.   
  
Merry looked up from his bread and shrugged. Seeing Merry was not planning to speak further, Sam  
replied, "All right, sir. And yourself?"   
  
Merry lifted his eyes from Sam's potatoes to catch his uncle's reaction. His uncle had spent the past  
four days hunting restlessly in the Shire, getting little sleep and food himself, and the exhaustion showed  
in the dark circles under his eyes and his bent form. He smiled openly at Sam's inquired, as though it  
were a joke. "I'm holding up, Sam. I'm just glad I don't have more tea to serve. I'm running low on  
stores, and it's been a bit of a challenge bouncing to the market lately."   
  
"I can go, Sir," Sam offered quickly, rising from his chair.   
  
Bilbo shook his head slowly, his eyes intent upon his mug of tea. "Sam, the most useful thing you can do  
for me and for yourself right now is by staying here and not moving from that chair and finishing up those  
mashed potatoes before Merry gets them."   
  
Merry would have laughed if he wasn't so tired. "I'm not hungry either, Uncle," he said, yawning heavily  
and burying his hand in a tangle of his blonde curls.   
  
Bilbo looked up to see his nephew slouched over the table, his face buried in his arm, while Sam sat  
watching him anxiously, obviously concerned for his new friend. Seeing the two sit there and blame  
themselves for this was too much, and he sighed, exasperated. "Merry, don't do this to yourself. No  
one should blame feel blame but myself."   
  
  
Merry groaned, abruptly. "Uncle, you don't understand. It's my fault."   
  
"No Merry -"   
  
"No!" he growled, slamming his fist on the table. Sam stared, pained, as the weariness of the young  
Brandybuck was shed and the anger that lay underneath flared. His brown eyes glowered at his uncle.   
  
"You don't understand," he said, evenly. "It is my fault. I had the fight with Frodo, and then I didn't  
come and tell you when he didn't show up the next day. If I'd came to Bag End, he probably would've  
been found, I might have passed him! It's my fault, Uncle Bilbo."   
  
Bell Gamgee stood in the hallway, pausing from acknowledging her presence as she watched her  
Master's jaw harden as he listened to Merry's admission of guilt.   
  
"Merry, you're being ridiculous," Bilbo said, trying to keep his voice steady. "This was not your fault.  
You can't blame yourself for this."   
  
"And what about yourself, Sir?" Bell dared to interrupt, before it got any worse and a fight broke out  
between the two.   
  
The three turned their attention to Mrs. Gamgee in the doorway, looking worn out but defensive, her  
hands on her hips. "You heard me, sir. Why are you any better to take the thrown of blame?"  
  
In truth, Bell did blame Bilbo for this. When it came down to it, she knew Bilbo's attention was  
something Frodo needed and greatly deserved, but it wavered from his nephew to his books, stories  
and past. No such tear should exist, she believed, when it came to choosing between work and a child.  
Bilbo should have chosen one and stuck with it whole-heartedly, as it was his nature to love something  
fully and completely. If he'd chosen Frodo, he should have put his work away enough to give the boy  
the attention he deserved; if he had not chosen Frodo, it would have been best to leave the lad where he  
was at Brandy Hall. Bell knew his indecision terrified the boy, who surely knew the battle within his  
uncle, and dreaded the day that Bilbo might make up his mind. From the fight Bilbo had mentioned, Bell  
was sure now that it had convinced the lad of the one he feared. For that Bell was angry indeed at her  
Master for his carelessness in toying with his nephew's affection, and not bothering to amend his  
mistake fast enough. For all that, and for all the grief it caused her, Sam, Merry, and friends Frodo had  
made that Bilbo didn't even know about, Bell felt inclined to give her Master the angriest tirade she  
could summon.   
  
The reminder of her place, however, held her back. The past few days had been a bit of a wake up call  
to her, as she had tended the inn as a regular servant and listened to the outlandish stories of her  
'wealthy,' 'mysterious,' 'cracked' master. They were all sharp reminders that she was not in the same  
class as Bilbo, and she did not have the right to come out and judge him, even if it had always been her  
habit to scold him, even if she knew in heart she was right. But as she stared at him now, new creases  
burrowing their way into his frown, his hair unkempt and sprouting fresh gray, his eyes tired and livid  
with guilt, she knew the past four days had beaten him down enough.   
  
"Sir, may I speak to you?"   
  
"Bell, you're not taking advantage of the situation to really catch me off my guard," he said in a hollow  
voice as they headed into the living room, out of earshot from Merry and Sam.   
  
"I could, Sir," she admitted, simply. "But I'm seeing all of you ringing yourselves enough. I mean no  
disrespect or nothing, sir, but I don't reckon you've noticed that by allowing yourself to be weighed  
down by guilt, you're allowing Merry and Sam to do the same."   
  
The hobbit's brown eyes widened sharply, and he opened his mouth to protests, but closed it when he  
realized the bad example he'd made of himself. 'As I've made a bad example of everything,' he  
thought, and didn't say anything in reply.   
  
"It's not your fault," she said, softly.   
  
Bilbo rolled his eyes. It was the silliest, and most insulting thing a hobbit could do was roll their eyes,  
and as Bilbo's eyes began to arch, she added quickly, "True, you and Frodo had a conflict. A  
misunderstanding."   
  
"You don't need to make it easier on me, Bell," he said, his voice calm and resigned. "I know I drove  
Frodo to this, distancing him the way I did, for the sake of my privacy and my book."   
  
A sudden lost look clouded his brown eyes, and he began to speak the passing thoughts in his mind as  
though she weren't even there. "You know, the terrible thing is, I still feel a slight tear. So many years I  
was left to myself and had only my home to content myself with. It was a price to pay I suppose, losing  
my good name with neighbors, but I was satisfied with where fate had taken me in my life. The idea of  
spending my life alone, with my books, and my kitchen hearth, and my chair were all I imagined I  
desired.   
  
"Frodo changed that feeling, though. For better or worse, I had often wondered, I found myself wanting  
to abandon my comfortable lifestyle for the sake of him. He just opened something up in me that I had  
not anticipated, something that really wanted someone to love and take care of. There had always been  
something about him - he was always such a lively, curious lad. I suppose he reminded me of myself  
when I was younger. Perhaps it was because he was Drogo and Primula's son. But whatever it was, I  
found myself spending less time at home and more time traveling to Brandy Hall to see him all the time.  
Being with him was becoming more satisfying than life before ever had. And yet - a part of me didn't  
want to let go from that life."   
  
He stopped again, and a greater sadness passed like a shadow over his features. "It's almost too late  
now to say I realized what a fool I've been. I know how much I was just being stubborn. Now that  
Frodo's gone, I realize the greater thing I've lost."   
  
Bilbo's eyes met Bell's, and he inquired quickly, "You know I love the lad, don't you?"   
  
She smiled through her tears. "Of course I do, silly hobbit. All you're telling me is that you don't know  
how to raise children."   
  
"I suppose you can break down my entire soliloquy into that if you wish," he said, laughing shortly.   
  
"Master Baggins, you should know that despite your odd manners, you are an excellent hobbit. You've  
had the misfortune to lose a lot of friendships in the past, but those who know you well know your  
goodness. Frodo knows you above anyone, the lad's eyes see clear through you. And he loves you  
dearly."   
  
Bilbo shook his head, as though attempting to fend off some undesired notion. "It's just come down to  
this point, Bell. Where can he be? What possible could have happened to make him vanish out of  
Middle Earth?"   
  
In near response to that inquiry, Bell suddenly heard her name softly spoken, and turned to see Hamfast  
standing in the doorway. Bilbo turned as well, and caught sight of the Gaffer, a letter held out in his  
shaking hand. Merry and Sam's heads poked out from behind each side of him, staring curiously.   
  
"This arrived in your mail, Sir. Came just this mornin' apparently."   
  
Bilbo rose, acknowledging Hamfast's troubled expression with dread. He took the paper almost  
hesitantly from his hands, and prepared himself to hear the Frodo was injured, Frodo was sick, as he  
fumbled with opening the letter in his stubby hands..   
  
Outside, a few hobbits had seen the Gaffer entering Bag End with the letter in his hand. A new wave of  
gossip began to spread, and a few even peered into the windows to watch as the four gathered around  
the Master of Bag End as he read the letter.   
  
Angelica Proudfeet claimed Bilbo Baggins simply collapsed, while Dora Baggins shook her head and  
said that the letter had to be ripped away from him, for he tried to tear it up after reading it. In truth,  
Sara Took was the only one who was actually there, and witnessed as the hobbit's face blanched, then  
went through an agonizing transformation from twisted features and eyes bulging from shock, then  
horror that froze his expression in a dumb state of disbelief. As his eyes traveled down the letter he  
slowly sank to the floor, as though invisible hands were dragging him down there.   
  
At that moment Bell Gamgee grabbed the letter from him, and within a few short seconds of reading her  
hand shot to her mouth to stifle a scream. Her eyes were wild with fright, and she began to cry upon the  
shoulder of her husband. The letter then dropped by Bilbo's knee, but he made no move to take it, and  
Frodo's friend and cousin snatched it up to read in hysterics. All the while Bilbo Baggins apparently just  
stared into space, frowning slightly in contemplation, as though wondering where he'd put a forgotten  
ingredient to a salad mix.   
  
  
TBC  
  
~*~   
  
Thanks everybody for the awesome feedback. My God, I'm at 85 reviews already?! For goodness  
sake's people, I'm only on chapter 7, do you have any idea how much more there is to go?? You're all  
too wonderful and generous for words! I can't thank you enough for all your support and feedback, it's  
the greatest motivator and lightens a weary day. 


	8. Interlude

Title: Treasures  
Author: BellaMonte  
E-Mail: bellamonte@aol.com   
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: Gossip ran through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins possessed a vast wealth in the depths of his  
home. A few ruffians attempt to seize that fortune by kidnapping his beloved nephew and holding him  
for ransom. But will all end in a fair exchange?  
  
~*~  
  
ThE iNsAnE oNe: I love your name too. Indeed, don't change it, I'll just cut and paste. :P  
Aww, and your treatment of Frodo *gives frodo a hug* is so cute, I should hand him to you, you'd  
treat him right, look at the hell I'm putting him through! He deserves better, yes, I'll give him to you  
towards the end. Thanks for the review!  
  
HeatherStacieA: Frodo tortured?! My goodness, you think I'd do that?... :) No spoilers or anything,  
but how about we just keep going along for a few chapters and see, shall we?   
  
Elvish: I hope I got this out quickly enough, I didn't want you to fall over from waiting. Believe me I  
know the feeling of restlessness for an update to a story, being an avid fan fiction reader myself. Enjoy!   
  
Shlee Verde: Hello! If you read the end of chapter 7, it gives a sentence long description of Merry and  
Sam's reactions. They were hysterical too. :)  
  
Tiggivon: Hey Tiggivon! Thanks for wishing me luck, and I promise I'll be bouncing back to finish this,  
I'm just as eager to keep writing as readers are to read it. I like your insight, describing Bilbo as self  
centered. I had not used that word to describe him myself while I write him, but thinking about it yes,  
that's one characteristic of him in this story, at least in the beginning.   
  
MelodySongSinger: Thanks a bunch for the encouragement as an English major. Let's just hope I excel  
in the essay department. And how do I write? Oh boy, that's a complicated question. Well, it starts off  
as an idea and then it becomes a sentence long story written down, then manifests into about ten spare  
scraps of paper with little ideas on then and then it becomes a brief outline and then the outline goes on  
the computer and I fill in the details and then edit it about five times. Hense, it's hard to knock out a  
chapter in a day. Little scenes I write out at once, but I find it hard to write something out perfectly the  
first time, it usually takes a while. Some teacher of mine once quoted, "For every great page of writing  
there's ten pages of rough drafts." That's how I'm forced to follow. If you saw the first few written out  
pages of this chapter you'd probably go, not kidding, "What in the world is this crap?!" :)  
  
Manc Admirer: Hey there! I'm so sorry about what's happening in England. There's a case happening  
here in the US too, where a six year old girl's been kidnapped. It really hurts to hear things like that  
happening in real life. I don't know, writing it can be emotional, but you know it's just a story, when it  
actually happens it's too horrible to think about.   
  
Mish: So you want Frodo, do ye? Yay, because here he is! Among the two chapters where Frodo had  
disappeared somehow, I found him! He's waiting for you down the page. Enjoy!   
  
Myfanwy: 'So much like Tolkien's it's rather scary.' You just made my day, Myfanwy. That was so  
sweet! Thank you so (huggies) and no, I don't mean the diaper brand. Evil cliffhanger? Indeed, I can  
be a bit of a monster with where I leave off.   
  
Shirebound: I would never forget you guys. :) I promise I'll be taking plenty of breaks from work and  
not too heavy partying to keep writing. It's fortunately a need for me to write each day, so chapters will  
continue to be posted, and you make the writing worth it so with your reviews.   
  
Tangelian Proudfoot: Hey there, thanks for revealing yourself a reader! Don't worry about the reviews,  
I understand, I'm behind myself. The nasty Orcs that invade my life happen to be teachers and my boss  
at the library. I'm glad you're enjoying the story.   
  
  
~*~  
  
'This must be what it feels like if they had set my face on fire.'   
  
Frodo winced as his left cheek began to tingle painfully. The blow Strasser had given him had numbed  
his face at first, and he hadn't even felt the blood continuing to flow from his nose until after they'd tied  
him back up in the chair. He spent a while bending his head backwards, trying to stop the blood flow,  
but then the blood ran down his throat, so he had no choice but to let it bleed freely. It eventually  
stopped around the same time his face began to swell and hurt as though sharp pins were sprouting  
from his skin. Strasser's hand had been so big, and his face so small, that the filthy paw had cut across  
his whole face, and left an imprint that burned like fire.   
  
'Elbereth, this can't be happening!'   
  
The loss of blood was weakening him, and his head lolled forward. He looked down to see the red  
stains drying on his jacket and shirt. The white blouse he wore had been pressed and clean when he  
had left Bag End, but now it gave the appearance of torn, filthy rags, much like the same his hideous  
captors wore, and splattered with his own scarlet blood.   
  
Another wave of dizziness swept his head sideways. 'How could this happen?' he pleaded. 'How did I  
get into this?'   
  
"Ransom, you imp," Tony Chattin's voice echoed in his head. That cold, unsettling voice had had told  
Frodo everything, expecting him to digest it as simply as he had spoken it himself.   
  
In all of Frodo's fears, the thought of being kidnapped for ransom had never crossed his mind. It was  
too ridiculous, too, well, he didn't know what. It wasn't anything he had imagined. Being randomly  
captured as a toy for trolls, or food for a giant spider perhaps, had been his best assumptions for why  
men would randomly capture a hobbit. It had hurt that he made the mistake of wandering into that field  
alone and becoming the perfect target, but he had figured, if that were the case, at least it wasn't his  
fault.   
  
The truth that he, Frodo Baggins, nephew to Bilbo Baggins, had been deliberately kidnapped so he  
could be exchanged for his uncle's mysterious wealth, had seemed so trite a notion, that it had stunned  
him at first with it's mundaneness. For a while he couldn't grasp the idea he was just a simple captive  
and all they wanted was money. The truth seemed almost disappointing; but the moment he thought  
that, he felt the cold steel of the knife at his throat again, and the terror of how much worse this could  
become latched onto him.  
  
This was no magical adventure with a happy ending he had been dragged into and there was no  
knowledge he had of the elvish language that could save him. It was as though he had been dragged  
into some terrible nightmare that was not only real, but tainted with the ugly motives of stupid matters,  
such as greed and money, concepts he didn't understand.   
  
Even more frightening, he could no longer hide behind the idea he was some random hobbit, and it had  
been an accident that the ruffians were there just as he was. They had been watching him, their eyes  
intent on his movements, for days or maybe even weeks. Frodo shuddered at the thought, while he had  
gone fishing with the Gamgees last week and Sam had accidentally slipped in the mud, when he was  
playing outside with Merry, when he looked out his window at the morning sunshine, there had been  
someone out there watching him. He had been so happy, laughing with Merry that afternoon, he had  
been so swept up in his own misery when he took the barren path, he had no idea of what was  
watching him, waiting for him.   
  
Even more confusing, it wasn't him they were after at all. He was nothing particular or exceptional,  
except that he was the nephew of his uncle, who harbored treasure that they were after. Though it was  
selfish and horrible, it felt even more worthless to know he had been targeted for this and suffered for it,  
but it was nothing that he had done, said, or was worth that mattered, except for the connection of his  
relation. The only thing these men were concerned with was riches to satisfy their own greed. Their  
motive was between money and his uncle, who possessed it. He was just a thing to be exchanged,  
another coin to be traded. Nothing more.   
  
While Rob Strasser and Tony Chattin had been there, he had been too overcome with fear that they  
were going to kill him at any moment to think clearly about any of this. But now that they were both  
gone, and Tony had only come up once since....  
  
'No! Don't remember their names!' It was such a ridiculous thought. Even if he could forget their faces,  
their names and their threats, he could never actually convince them of that. The more he knew, the less  
likely he could hope they would let him go. But he was still so foolishly believing, and he wanted to go  
home so badly, that hope still flickered in the dark reality, and he grasped onto it with desperate hands.   
  
Even if he couldn't forget what was happening, even if he couldn't escape, there had to be some way  
he could escape from thinking about it. He couldn't stand this for much longer, how he wished to be  
free! He couldn't stand being tied up like this, unable to move, unable to breathe, his body aching, his  
face burning, his mind going crazy from the darkness around him that he couldn't escape from. Oh, he  
wanted to be free so badly!   
  
In a furious effort, he squirmed in the chair, twisting and turning, trying to find some way to loosen the  
ropes. His struggle proved hopeless against his bonds, and he eventually gave up with a ragged sigh.   
  
Frodo's eyes burned with exhaustion. His lids began to feel terribly heavy, as though two invisible  
fingers were pressing down upon them, pushing them closed. He didn't resist the pressure, and allowed  
his lids to fall like a curtain. A warm and unbelievably comforting feeling came over him to be able to  
relax some part of himself, and he began to lose himself between sleep and the terrible swelling of his  
face.   
  
~*~ (Dream sequence)  
  
Warmth bathed his face as he slowly began to wake. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment he was  
confused as to why his face felt so hot, but then smiled to see the sun's rays playing upon his face.  
Glancing around him, he realized he'd just fallen asleep upon the green patch of moss he'd rested upon.   
  
After spending the morning running through the fields and trees with his cousins, he had headed home  
for lunch. It had been so exciting to see, as he was running through the fields, that he was taller than the  
wheat. That meant either the wheat had not grown as high as last year, or he had sprouted another inch!  
He couldn't wait to tell his Mother, she would be so pleaded to see he was still growing. When he  
stopped growing, she had told him, that meant she would be the one shrinking next from old age.   
  
He had only meant to plop down on the soft grass for a few moments, but it had felt so good laying on  
his back to catch his breath that he couldn't leave. In the moments of staring up at the green star-  
shaped leaves, and playing with a few blades of grass, he must have dozed off.   
  
Awakening, he sat up to rub his eyes, and thought he heard his Mother calling him from a distance.   
  
"Frodo! Frodo, honey!" Yes, that was her clear, airy voice, a faint call over the rustling wind.   
  
  
"Frodo! Honey, it's time for luncheon!" He heard his father declare, and smiled as he could just imagine  
his Mother swatting him for calling their son 'honey'. Only Mother was allowed to call him that.   
  
Quickly he rose from the tree and darted across the field. When he leaped now, his head sprung high  
over the wheat. Indeed, he had grown, the wheat was now shorter than he. As Frodo turned to smile at  
the sky, he wondered if the sun had grown brighter, for it felt as thought the rays were burning his face,  
especially around his cheek and mouth.   
  
~*~  
  
A spasm of pain shot through Frodo's tummy, jerking him awake. He shivered as a damp chill blew in  
front the cracks in the ceiling, dragging him from his dreams to the gray, ashen walls surrounding him.  
His stomach cramped again; he hadn't been given the chance to go to the bathroom yet and now he  
really had to go. Quite badly.   
  
'Stupid, what a thing to complain about in all this! Why hadn't Bilbo mentioned things such as being  
hungry and having to relieve himself in his story? Probably because it's such a worthless thing to  
complain about.'  
  
It was shameful to know his uncle had suffered through homelessness, being at the mercy of monsters  
and living under the threat of death, and in all the equally serious things he should be fearing right now,  
the worst he could complain for was the physical torture in needing to relieve himself. 'Some adventurer  
I'd make,' he thought bitterly.   
  
Frodo felt another cramp, and he groaned aloud in pain. This was just too much. He couldn't think  
about all of this anymore, as long as he thought it, he'd never stop trembling. Right now, he had to be  
brave. While grasping that shred of hope, he had to hold on. He couldn't die like this. He couldn't die  
tied up in this chair, he couldn't die so filthy and bloody. He couldn't die and be left in this room, in this  
terrible place so far from home. True, he'd been torn from home as though he'd been torn from his  
warm, safe bed, but he couldn't let it defeat him. Even if they defeated him anyway, the murderers that  
they probably were, he couldn't break, like he was beginning to break right now.   
  
He remembered one time in Brandy Hall when he had felt a similar hopelessness, and that had turned  
out ok, in fact it had turned out wonderful! It had been a late afternoon in Brandy Hall, and all of the  
cousins had gathered around his Aunt Eglantine to listen to the story of a group of trolls who went  
hunting one day. Half of his cousins had grouped together in the back of the room and talked amongst  
themselves, completely uninterested in the story, while many of the girls were braiding each other's hair  
and asking inane questions every once in a while, pausing his aunt's reading. Frodo seemed to be the  
only one who was interested in the story, and was downcast further when his aunt had given up reading,  
shrugging off his plea for her to continue, saying he was the only one she was reading to.   
  
It had been so depressing sitting in the middle of the room all alone. He did not particularly want to  
wrestle with his cousins, who were all much younger than himself, and certainly did not desire having his  
curls braided by his female relations. He had felt so weak, not having anything to amuse him once the  
book had been taken away, and feeling so out of place, being with cousins who didn't enjoy the same  
things he did.   
  
Had it been some strange coincidence that his young cousin Merry, who was just learning how to read,  
had entered the room and demanded that Frodo read to him? The surprise of having his cousin join him  
and being interested in the same thing as himself had almost been too much to ask for at once. The  
situation had taken an even better ironic turn, when Frodo's reading aloud had attracted the attention of  
some of his younger cousins who were in fact listening before, and soon he had been surrounded by the  
crowd his aunt had been.   
  
If not for the gag in his mouth, Frodo would have smiled at the happy memory of Merry and his cousin  
Berilac fighting over who could seat himself on his lap while he read.   
  
The reminder of a bad time turning into something wonderful filled Frodo with such a rush of happiness,  
that he felt a physical lifting in his heart. The pressure that had built into his chest loosened some, and he  
kept his eyes shut, blocking the scene around him and just thinking back to those rare occasions when  
things turned out all right. It was not the most dramatic solution for escape, but he couldn't think of  
anything else.   
  
'If there's nothing else I can do, just let me stay in my dreams for now. Let me go back to sleep and  
dream and not have to think about this anymore.'   
  
Though Frodo did not know it, he began to follow same path of courage many great heroes before him  
had; who, when caught in perilous and despairing situations, continued to fight for the chance to return  
to such wonderful places that they dreamed of. The dreams were the strength that willed them to go on,  
to survive. Though Frodo did not know it, his own Uncle had dreamed just as he was while he  
trampled down the Hill for the first time and while he was carried away by the birds, always taking time  
to remember what he hoped to return to.   
  
But Frodo did not know this. He knew only that thinking about violets growing outside his window and  
the times he swam in the Brandywine before his parents death, made time suddenly run faster and  
brought him away from feeling the murderous hands clutching him, the ropes binding him, the cold blade  
digging into his throat. Even if he never saw home again, he'd rather be there in his thoughts right now  
than here, even if they were merely vague pictures in his conscience.   
  
His eyes began to close again, exhaustion overcoming him. He couldn't keep his head up, so he just let  
it fall to his chest.   
  
~*~ (dream flashback)  
  
The fire was still burning in the den. It's warm yellow glow ran down the hallway, lighting the floor  
outside Frodo's room. He was used to being one of the last to fall asleep in Brandy Hall; for some  
reason, it had been a comfort to be the last one awake. His habit had proved slightly disconcerting  
since moving in to Bag End, however, for his uncle proved to be a late nighter himself.   
  
Curious of what Bilbo was doing so late at night, Frodo slipped from his bed and made his way to the  
den. There was no sound except the soft cracking of the burning wood, and he quietly poked his head  
round the door, hoping to not be a disturbance. His uncle sat at his desk, and Frodo could see he was  
busy writing.   
  
An abrupt tickling in his throat forced him to cough. The sound broke his uncle from his work, and  
sitting up, he turned round towards the source of the noise. Frodo braced himself in the doorway,  
hoping his uncle wouldn't be angry for disturbing him. Although Bilbo had never come out and say that  
he needed his privacy at times, after all he'd lived alone for so long, but Frodo sensed he enjoyed  
having his peace and quiet at times. He completely understood that, he needed the occasional solitude  
himself. He just hoped he hadn't interfered at a very bad time, and greeted his uncle with a wane smile.   
  
"Frodo?" Bilbo asked, yawning. "What are you doing up, my lad?"  
  
"I couldn't sleep, the fire was still burning." He tentatively came out from behind the door, keeping his  
quilt wrapped around himself.   
  
Bilbo nodded and rubbed his own eyes sleepily. "I hope I'm not keeping you up with this light, am I?"  
  
"No no, not at all. I was reading. What are you up to?" he asked, putting his palms upon the top of the  
high desk. His chin just touched the desk, and his large blue eyed peered over it curiously.   
  
Bilbo smiled, and opened his arms to lift Frodo onto his lap. "Look for yourself," he said, putting an  
arm round his nephew's waist to secure him, and allowed him to look at the writing in his notebook.   
  
"What's this?" he asked, pointing to the strange symbols on the paper.   
  
"It's a chapter of my book," Bilbo explained, resting his chin upon Frodo's head. "I wrote this part in  
elvish to recount the time spent at Rivendell with Lord Elrond."   
  
"From your adventures?" Frodo asked, grinning eagerly.   
  
"That's right," Bilbo said. He ruffled his curls, affectionately, and Frodo smiled, feeling so happy to be  
living with his uncle. "At this part here, I was still feeling as though I was in a sticky spot, going outside  
the Shire without even a tea pot, and having no idea what purpose I had being there except as there  
assumed burglar. But Rivendell was a fascinating place and opened my eyes to the beauty of what's  
beyond our hills, though I didn't admit that to anyone at the time."   
  
"Was it hard on your journey?" he asked. Bilbo sniffed humorously as he recalled how he'd basked in  
the idea of being home for most of the journey, then spent forty five years desiring to re-live the  
experience.  
  
"Yes it was, though the danger was worth the adventure in the end." As he spoke, he saw Frodo's eyes  
drooping slowly closed. "It was hard, and exhausting," he added, hefting Frodo a little tighter on his lap.  
Frodo felt the sudden movement, and his eyes popped open, his interest returned as he blinked sleepily.   
  
"It was hard, and exhausting," his uncle repeated, "As you are exhausted right now."   
  
"No, I'm not, really," he protested, even as his eyes continued to blink blearily at him.   
  
Bilbo smiled "Yes, you are. Why not go back to bed now, and I'll tell you the rest of the story later."  
  
"I can wait," he said, yawning.   
  
His uncle sighed, and released his hold on him. "Very well, lad. Take a seat on the couch for now, and  
I'll have this part finished within an hour or two. You think you can hold out until then?"  
  
"Course," he replied. Crawling onto the couch, he picked a cozy spot nearest to the fire, and with a  
pillow beneath him, he lay listening to the wood cracking and his uncle's pen quill scratching across the  
paper. He watched his uncle for several moments, who had proceeded intently back to his work. His  
eyes were hard on what he wrote, his face stern in concentration. Frodo wished someday he could  
have the knowledge and passion Bilbo did of so many things outside the Shire, he wished he could  
write his own adventure in a book someday. Of course, he would have to go on one first. He would  
ask Bilbo if he would take him on one once his uncle had finished working. In the meantime, Frodo   
sighed and closed his eyes, the blanket tucked snugly around his chin.   
  
Before he knew it, he felt a hand upon him, brushing back the dark curls that were tickling his forehead.  
His eyes fluttered, but heard his uncle 'shh' something, and continue to stroke the curls from his face.  
For a moment he feared Bilbo would be upset he had fallen asleep instead of waiting, but gave no more  
thought to it as he felt strong hands slide beneath his back and legs and lift him from the couch.  
Although he was already drifting back to a warm, comforting sleep, Frodo managed to stay awake as  
his uncle carried him back to his own room and lay him back in his own bed.   
  
"Night," he mumbled, half-coherently, as Bilbo folded the covers up to his chest.   
  
"Good-night, Frodo," he thought he heard his uncle murmur, before he felt the small, gentle pressure of  
a kiss upon his brow, and then passed into repose.   
  
Tied up and aching in the attic at Bree, Frodo slept soundly through the night.   
  
~*~  
  
I surprised myself with that last part there, it made me teary! I hope it made someone else teary,  
otherwise I'm going to feel very embarrassed. :)  
See? I can write happy stuff too! Whee!   
  
Thanks for the reviews everyone!! I love you all so much! (Gives big bear hugs to everybody.)   
  
I'll have another message about the change in ratings next chapter. But it's late and I'm tired, so I'll  
explain what I've decided to do in future chapters when I post chapter 9. Night night everybody! 


	9. Preparations

Title: Treasures  
Author: Bella Monte  
E-Mail: bellamonte@aol.com  
Disclaimer: Not mine, and a good thing too.  
Summary: Gossip ran through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins possessed a large fortune in the depths of his  
home. A few ruffians attempt to seize that fortune by kidnapping his beloved nephew and holding him  
for ransom. But will all end in a fair exchange?  
  
Notes: IMPORTANT AGAIN! I recently posted on a previous chapter that I was planning to change  
the ratings of this story from PG-13 to R. In doing this, I hoped to warn everyone in advance that there  
was darker stuff ahead, specifically in chapter 10. Yet after receiving support, as well as  
discouragement, on the change, I've re-thought the decision a bit. Based on the fact this story started as  
PG-13, it's my fault I didn't warn in the beginning of the story that this might occur, here is what I've  
planned; to appeal to the R-ratings readers and PG-13, I've created two versions of chapter 10, which  
is basically the only chapter that will be graphic enough to require an R-rating. The storylines will be  
relatively the same, both versions will leave off at the same place, and in the further chapters any  
mention of what had happened in chapter 10 will refer to both versions. They will both have the same  
storyline, but the R will simply be more graphic. Sound a little complicated? I hope not, I'm trying to  
make it as simple as possible. :)  
  
I have to apologize to those who felt offended by the rating's change. In starting the story I was unsure  
myself how dark I was intending to take the plot until it came to the point recently when I understood it  
was necessary. But because this was my mistake, and I take responsibility, I hope that the two versions  
will allow everyone to continue with the story and they can choose to read either version, whichever is  
to their liking.   
  
So this is the plan for chapter 10. In the meantime, I hope you like chapter 9.   
  
~*~  
  
"You must go, Abby." Mrs. Gamgee struggled to maintain a placid expression as she ushered the group  
of curious neighbors away from the door. So far she had managed to fling the drapes over the windows  
to block the peering eyes and bid the others a good day; but one neighbor, Abigail Took, was reluctant  
to leave without first knowing the recent change in events.   
  
"Oh come now Bell, we're friends, are we not?" The older hobbit smiled, her dimple and the white   
bonnet round her plump face adding to her attempt at sincerity. "You can pass the word down to me.  
What did that letter say that startled Master Baggins so?"   
  
"Nothing that needs the attention of the entire Shire," Bell assured her, edging the door closed as she  
spoke.   
  
"And you know," Abby added, holding onto the door frame tightly, "You tell Mr. Baggins for me that  
he shouldn't talk about his adventures so, when everyone knows it were my Grandfather Took that  
Gandalf chose to go adventuring first. So I've a right to know myself if that letter were from Gandalf,  
being family and all."   
  
Bell sighed anxiously as she saw several hobbits still waiting by the end of the steps, while Abby  
continued to glance every few seconds passed the doorway into Bag End. "Please go 'long yer  
business, Abby, an' give Master Baggins some peace."   
  
"Oh come now, Bell!" Abby pressed, earnestly. "You know, you'd best tell me. Cause it'll get out  
anyway. Now I'm not saying that as a warning or nothing, but just cause I care. Come now, what was  
in that letter? Was it from Gandalf, did he take the lad?" The nosy hobbit continued to prod, even as  
Bell struggled to close the door without breaking off Abby's fingers in the process. "Cause you know,  
why - why, what's the matter darling? You look like you're ready to cry!"   
  
"Good night, Abby," Bell said quickly, slamming the door just as she removed Abby's fingers from the  
frame.   
  
Bell leaned against the bolted door for support; bringing her apron up to her face, she buried her  
renewed sobs into the coarse material. It had been anguish having to come outside and politely  
command a dozen neighbors to leave Bag End and cease from glancing through the windows, when she  
had just read Frodo's letter a moment before. But Hamfast had been helping his Master re-gain his  
feet, and Merry and Sam were both sobbing and obviously too young to ward off impending neighbors.  
So she had been the one to explain to everyone that everything was perfectly all right, and they should  
all go home.  
  
'Frodo, you poor darling. You poor. precious. boy. How could this happen, what have you been going  
through while we've been searching for you down the lane?'   
  
She had been forced to be polite and composed while removing the neighbors from Bag End. But now,  
before she could confront her master, her husband and the heartbreaking letter from Frodo again,  
before they all plunged into the preparations of what was to be done now, these tears that had been  
building and threatening to erupt for days had to be released. So for a few minutes she sobbed in the  
shadows of the hallway, her sobs muffled by her white apron.   
  
Once her crying began to subside, she slowly removed herself from leaning on the doorframe and  
headed towards the kitchen. From the amount of time it had taken for her to hustle away the remaining  
crowd and cry her eyes out, she assumed that Bilbo and Hamfast had already discussed and concluded  
about what was to be done about the ransom note. Yet as she entered, the silent room before her was  
convincing enough that no such discussion had taken place.   
  
Hamfast looked up to greet her as she entered. He stood in the opposite doorway, his arms folded  
tightly in front of him. He frowned angrily, gesturing behind her to convey his annoyance of the  
neighbors disturbing at such a time. Waving her hand in gesture to forget it, she glanced over to see her  
second eldest son, Halfred, sitting at the table. While Hamfast had been helping Bilbo into the kitchen,  
Halfred had followed his father through Bag End, and was exposed to the same information as his  
father. Unlike Merry and Sam, who had been led into a back room while the elders talked, Halfred had  
been allowed to remain, considering he was much older than the two. Though Bell didn't want to think  
of things such as manners in a time as this, she couldn't help but feel slight embarrassment that her son  
chose to sit at the head table, while his master stood. But Bilbo did not seem to mind. In fact, he still  
seemed oblivious to anything at the moment. Now recovered from his collapse, he stood as firm as a  
stone statue, his hands clutching the counter behind him. The three pairs of eyes were all directed upon  
the filthy, damp piece of paper that lay on the table before them.   
  
"Who was at the door?" Bilbo's voice sounded rough from lack of use.   
  
"Just a few neighbors," she said, quietly. "I told them away, they're gone now."   
  
"What did they want?"  
  
Bell sighed, reluctant to admit the letter had sparked a new wave of gossip around Bag End. But he had  
asked, so she admitted there were neighbors curious to know what was happening, especially since a  
few witnessed his collapse. "I told them nothing," she added quickly, as Bilbo started. "They've left,  
and I hope I gave the impression that nothing's wrong."   
  
The older hobbit nodded, but his pained eyes refused to leave the scrap of paper upon the table. A  
sudden wind blew from a window in a back room, and the air ruffled underneath the letter, drifting it  
slightly towards the center of the table.   
  
"Da has more news," Halfred declared, after a tense moment of silence. Although he knew it was an ill  
time to reveal more bad news, the importance of it could not be postponed.   
  
"What news?" Moving beside Bilbo, Bell reached for the kettle. Her master still looked dazed, and a  
warm cup of tea would hopefully aid in settling his nerves, as well as her own. She and Bilbo exchanged  
a look of helpless anticipation as they both listened to the two new chilling pieces of information.   
  
For one, the Gaffer had been approached that morning by a Brandybuck recently joining the search  
who claimed he had spotted men crossing a small bridge south of the Brandywine the same morning  
that Frodo disappeared. The hobbit had been fishing downstream, and witnessed the two dark figures  
on horses cut across the bridge and head in a direction close to Hobbiton.  
  
Secondly, another letter was revealed in the envelope that had held Frodo's. This one, not written by  
Frodo's hand, stated the instructions of how the exchange of Frodo for the riches was to be performed.  
The letter ordered when and where Bilbo was to meet the kidnappers, warning him to come alone and  
make no mention of this to anyone, and most important, how much they demanded for Frodo's life. The  
instructions were short and to the point. The letter ended, unsigned, with a similar warning as Frodo had  
made, that if Master Baggins did not cooperate under any circumstances, then his nephew would be  
killed. The letter concluded with that.   
  
Bell listened in silence as Hamfast read aloud, hurriedly gathering the cups and pouring the hot water, as  
though the effort would make the terrible letter end faster. Glancing up at her husband, she bit her lip to  
see his mouth twitch a few times as he spoke. While it was a hobbit's nature to be very open and  
honest with their feelings, Hamfast had always adopted a more stoic demeanor that suited his  
occupation and position in life. But as he read the letter, the heavy emotion began to leak, and Bell  
recognized the familiar twitching of his mouth. It was the same emotional twitter that vexed him from  
time to time. Most recently, it had bothered him when their relative had died and he had been chosen to  
recite the parting speech.   
  
As she poured the water into the kettle, she glanced over at Bilbo. She could see he was struggling with  
keeping calm as well, but was failing even further than her husband. Each instruction dictated by the  
kidnappers caused him to wince, and at the warning of what would happen if he did not comply, his  
face began to completely break down. Seeing that Bell was watching, he turned his head and buried his  
face in a trembling hand to ward off the surging tears. His other hand continued to clench the counter  
behind him with a grip that turned his knuckles a chalk white. Bell's heart went out to Bilbo, knowing  
that nothing she, nor Hamfast was suffering, could possibly compare to what the boy's uncle felt.   
  
'Hello Uncle. I've been kidnapped.'  
  
Nausea threatened to take over the older hobbit, and he clutched the counter behind him to keep from  
swaying. Bilbo snapped his eyes shut as that single sentence rang continuously through his head. It was  
such a simple declaration; he could almost hear Frodo's voice in the cheerful greeting through his fine,  
delicate handwriting, before it contorted into something abrupt and ugly by the following words. 'Hello  
Uncle. I've been kidnapped.'   
  
That first sentence had, in itself, cooled the blood that ran through his veins. If Frodo had written that,  
and only that, the shock would still have been so great as to devastate him. But no - far worse, as the  
letter continued, Bilbo grieved to read as his nephew told him of his own ignorance of why this was  
happened, and then pleaded with him for being vulnerable, as though it had been his fault this had  
happened. Tears sprung to his burning eyes to think of Frodo, and what a selfless to the point of  
ridiculous lad he was.   
  
The letter itself had been terrifying, and grew more so once Bilbo understood what the crusty brown  
stains splattered across the page were. Perhaps he might have felt greater relief in finally knowing what  
had happened to Frodo, that despite being kidnapped, he was at least alive. Frodo claimed he was  
safe, so he obviously had the free will to write a letter, and the kidnappers seemed focused upon  
collecting their ransom and having the nightmare done and over with as much as Bilbo did. For all this,  
he might have felt hope that Frodo was not in the gravest of danger - if not for the dark brown splotches  
of dried blood splattered heavily across the entire page. The hope that Frodo's words had been genuine  
in claiming his own safety, or that what his writing had been self-dictated, was revealed as a lie. The  
kidnappers might have thought it was a sick joke to allow Frodo to say what he did, then hurt him - in a  
manner he grew dizzy imagining - that conveyed the message how serious they were in claiming Frodo's  
life, and the severity of their own evil.   
  
Nausea crept upon him again, and he thanked Bell silently as she placed a cup of tea in his hand. The  
hot, bland liquid tasted funny in his mouth, and seemed to increase the emptiness in his stomach as it ran  
down his throat.   
  
"They demand you meet them at the forest, east of Tuckborough," the Gaffer replied, referring to a path  
of wilderness that lay south of them.   
  
Halfred frowned. "Tha's on the edge of Tookborough, isn't it?" he asked. "Why meet so close to the  
Smials?"   
  
"It's a secluded region." Hamfast spoke gravely, folding the letter carefully in his hands and looking up  
at his master with knowing eyes. "Between there and the Brandywine's nothin but fields. Most likely  
they're wantin it to be private."   
  
"How did this letter come into my mail?" Bilbo demanded.   
  
"I know not, Sir. While comin back from Bywater I found 'em in yer box and they weren't there as I  
set out this mornin."   
  
"So it were someone from 'round here who put 'em there," Halfred declared, his tone rising at the  
implications of that statement. "It warn't men, it were a hobbit who kidnapped Frodo!"   
  
The air in the room suddenly thickened, and another displaced silence followed. It had been terrible  
enough to imagine cruel, violent men had been responsible for kidnapping Frodo; but to comprehend  
the likely hood that it had been a hobbit, one of their own proud and honorable race who had led the  
men to him, was even more frightening and difficult to bare.   
  
Frantically, Bell traced her thoughts over all the names and faces she'd collected in the past few days.  
So many hobbits had come to help search for Frodo, and the company had allowed her to meet friends  
she had not seen in years, as well as acquainting herself with many pleasant hobbit folk that came from  
different regions she had never been to before. It had been the greatest relief spending time reminiscing  
with old friends when she was not working or worrying about what had happened to the lad. Through  
the warm conversations, the comforting hugs, the familiar faces albeit a little older from the distance of  
years apart, she scolded herself for being unable to recall a single truly dark expression, a mere glimpse  
of a suspicious character. Any one of them could have slipped that letter into her master's mail box..   
  
"I can't imagine it being one of our own doing this," she whispered.   
  
"It -It doesn't matter at this point who's responsible," Bilbo said, after a moment. The three pairs of  
eyes looked at him in bewilderment, but the dark storm that swirled in the depths of his coffe brown  
eyes convinced them he was not letting the matter go forever. "I can't worry about who's responsible at  
right now. For the moment, it's nothing that I can reveal or worry about. The important thing is getting  
Frodo back."  
  
"So all they want is money." Halfred stated. After all the confusion and fears sprouting from the initial  
truth, it seemed a reasonable idea to lay all the facts down before they continued. "Frodo was  
kidnapped because someone wants money, and they'll kill him if not?"   
  
"That appears to be the case," Hamfast replied.   
  
Halfred shook his head, as though a mist of confusion was swirling round him. While he was at the age  
to be considered an adult, a tragedy as severe as this was still hard for a young hobbit to take. "This is  
all so strange. Has anything like this happened ever before?"   
  
"It has indeed," Bilbo replied, clenching the half empty mug in his hands. "Not here, of course. But from  
stories of kingdoms far away, people of great importance have been captured for the sake of gaining  
something from them. Some were taken out of rebellion, revenge, wealth, or other matters. In Frodo's  
case, they saw him as a way to get something from me. They knew the lad's worth."   
  
Fresh tears sprung from Bell's bloodshot eyes as the reality came fully upon her. Poor Frodo, the sweet  
darling had already been gone nearly a week. What terrible things had he suffered, what confusion,  
what fear? "Gracious, what can be done?" she whispered, more to herself than to the others.   
  
"Pay, of course!" Bilbo exclaimed, instantly. The conversation turned to the inevitable decision.   
  
Bell looked up, sniffling. "Of course, of course," she said, but her voice drifted off slightly, as she  
hesitated on whether to say more. "And you will pay, Sir," she added, "Of course.....because you  
can......"   
  
Fury almost gave Bilbo the incentive to glare at Mrs. Gamgee before he realized the curiosity that lived  
in all their eyes was not directed towards his decision, of course he would pay for his nephew, but  
rather his ability to make such a trade. He clamped his mouth shut at his own foolishness.   
  
From their looks of inquiry, it suddenly dawned on Bilbo what submitting to the kidnapper's demands  
would reveal. It would not only confirm to all that yes, he, the infamous Bilbo Baggins, was in fact telling  
the truth when he boasted about his adventures across Middle Earth, but he had indeed been rewarded  
greatly from his journey.   
  
Although the silence imploration of the Gamgees was not demanding, Bilbo felt closed in, stifled, unable  
to escape or raise his eyes to the fact his protective shield of silence had been removed.   
  
When it came down to it, Bilbo had always enjoyed the mystery that shrouded his life. The bizarre and  
outlandish theories hobbits cooked up about him were often quite comical, for once in a while they  
touched on an idea that was correct. He knew that gossip ran about him, and while they continuously  
speculated or mocked him for his difference, he had never wanted to reveal the wonders of the outside  
world. They did not understand. Instead, there had been a pride in being the sole hobbit to have ever  
walked under the trees of Mirkwood and so forth, and the secrecy of his life was one he treasured  
rather than felt burdened by.   
  
Yet now, he was confronted by the fact if he did not give the kidnappers the riches they demanded,  
then he would lose something far more precious than his pride. Frodo was worth more than Bag End  
and all his possessions in it, he knew that as his heart pained for his nephew more than it had ever  
pained for anything before. Still, a tiny part of him felt sorrow for losing his shield, and being revealed  
for the contempt of his fellow hobbits. But because Frodo was more important, he closed his eyes to  
that fate, and opened them again to be greeted with the sight of Bell, Hamfast and Halfred peering at  
him with concern.   
  
His heart lifted slightly, knowing if he were to admit himself, wholly and completely, he was glad his  
trusted friends would be the first to know. Come to think of it, he thought, he should have let them  
know years ago. What reason had there been to put such a barrier of silence between him and his loyal  
neighbors?  
  
"I have what they want," he admitted, finally. None of them spoke, but stared at him with acceptance  
and relief. Swallowing, he continued. "But whether it's men, or hobbits, or both who plucked my  
nephew from me that morning, I'll do what they want. For Frodo's sake, there's no other way."   
  
A moment passed, and Bell and Halfred nodded in solemn agreement that yes, that was the best thing  
to do. Hamfast seemed reluctant to the idea at first, and began to protest a word of caution.   
  
"Sir, I mean no disrespect, but I must warn you on somethin," he said. "If it's men that you're up  
against, then I need ta suggest that you be wary of their nature. I know you've taken trips outside the  
Shire, but men are a different race than elves. I mean no disrespect in sayin this. But consider that these  
mongrels may not return your nephew once you've turned the ransom over."   
  
"What do you suggest, leave him to die?" Bilbo sputtered, glaring at his friend in shock.   
  
"No!" Hamfast raised his hands in protest and stared back with the utmost sincerity. "Sir, I don't mean  
that at all. If you would just listen for a moment, I'll explain. It's that the writer o' this letter seems cold,  
calculated. He sais nothin of returning Frodo alive, only that he will kill him if you don't pay. I only  
suggest be certain, Sir, when you meet them, that Frodo's there. Demand that the lad be visible and  
within your reach when you make the trade. If you hand money while they still have the lad, there's no  
certainty they'll make a fair exchange."   
  
Bilbo paused a moment to ponder this. As he did, Halfred spoke up in agreement. "It's true, Sir. I have  
a friend from Bree who claims the men there aren't to be trusted on their word, no mistake. It's a messy  
place, many outlaws and wild men from the southern regions of Middle Earth often find there way there  
as a hide-out or the only place left to go. The men there are clever, deceivin. They're cruel to the  
hobbits who live there. They swindle hobbits out of deals. In Frodo's case, hope they don't try n'  
swindle you out of him. It might be cautious, for the lad's sake as well as your own."   
  
Bilbo turned around, his hands outstretched on the counter, as he fought to figure out the best plan to  
ensuring Frodo came home safely. While the exchange seemed simple enough, Hamfast made a good  
point. At the moment of trade, when their hands would hold Frodo, in his the ransom, he would have to  
trust there was enough decency in them for a fair trade.   
  
'Oh Elbereth, this is all my fault. More so than I could have ever imagined. If only I hadn't been so  
unprotective of Frodo, letting him go off all the time of his own, if only I hadn't rubbed it in to bitter  
relatives that I had wealth by buying them expensive gifts for their birthday! Those were my mistakes,  
and Frodo's paying for them.'   
  
As the guilt began to latch onto his throat again to the point it was hard to breathe, he broke out of his  
train of thoughts. Right now, he had to think straight and not cloud his mind with guilt that could be  
resolved later, if this worked out.   
  
So with that, he turned around to face them again, and they dove into the plan for two night from then,  
when the exchange was to take place. It was decided that yes, Bilbo should go alone, but Hamfast and  
Halfred would hide out in the background, just in case if anything went wrong, such as the kidnappers  
attacked Bilbo, they could intercede, and possibly unmask the monsters. It was advised Bilbo should  
not hand over any money until after he already had Frodo back in his arms.   
  
"Now all tha's left is gatherin -"   
  
"The ransom," Bilbo interjected, observing the hesitance in Hamfast's tone in mentioning it, as though  
he did not want to impose. "It's here. You might as well follow me, I may need some help carrying it, if  
in fact this is the sum they expect."   
  
Bell and Hamfast followed wordlessly as Bilbo handed them each a candle, and headed down a narrow  
corridor behind the kitchen. It was almost amusing that the both of them had entered Bag End hundreds  
of times since they'd lived next door, and yet their eyes now glanced at paintings and rooms of the  
home that they had never seen before. Bilbo had preferred to keep this part of his home closed off most  
of the time with a drape over the hallway, but now there was no need for denying why he kept the  
hallway concealed.   
  
In an effort to break the tense silence, Bilbo decided to admit some of the overriding guilt that lay upon  
him. While he had already confessed to Bell some, there was still much to be said, there was still much  
he would need to tell Frodo. For the first time in so long it felt better to admit it aloud to a friend than  
write it down in his elusive notebook.   
  
"I should have anticipated something like this," he admitted, as he guided the Gamgees to a back room.  
There were no windows in this corner of Bag End, and the hallway was unusually dark against the black  
oak of the walls. "It's ironic, is it not?" he continued, his words stumbling clumsily a little. "We all feared  
Frodo ran away, and what else could we expect after I'd yelled at him and turned him from the door?"  
He laughed shortly, and dug his hand in his front pocket for the key as they rounded the last corner.  
"Instead it turns out to be far worse, and I'm more to blame than I could have imagined. I'd provoked  
this from the start. I told tales of going off on adventures, I lived a bit too comfortably, and I encouraged  
Frodo's curiosity about the outside world without warning him of the dangers as well. I persuaded him  
to trust and love. Look what it's done?" He laughed bitterly again. "All that foolish upbringing's put him  
in the worst danger. You would think I'd felt bad before, well it's a kick in the shins now."   
  
Bell choked a laugh, giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze. "I never meant for you to recriminate  
yourself that far, sir. Please don't hurt yourself too much on this, save it for when Frodo needs to hear  
it. There's still a chance this can turn out all right, I think. We know what happened to Frodo now, and  
if you have what they want, then there's the good chance we'll get him back. Like I said before, he  
needs you now, so let's not talk anymore and prepare."   
  
Bilbo managed a smile, even if she could not see it in the dark. Elbereth, for the first time since he had  
known them, he understood what amazingly wonderful hobbits the Gamgees were. While many might  
be scratching their itchy palms at the thought of seeing a vast wealth, Bilbo knew both of them had no  
such gleam of greed in their eyes, only the earnest and honest desire for everything to come out all right  
for him.   
  
They then came to the end of a hallway, where a large cherry oak chest stood against the end of the  
hallway. Placing his candle down, Bilbo rubbed his hands together. "Ham, could you assist me in  
moving this thing? It wasn't a bother in the old days, but now I've been starting to feel my bones bend  
as I try to move this thing. It's dreadfully heavy."   
  
Nodding dutifully, Hamfast handed his candle to Bell. The two of them grunted as they hefted the chest  
backwards from the wall, revealing the closet door behind it. The two Gamgees watched with pounding  
hearts as their master unlocked the door and brought his candle up to beckon them to see as he opened  
the door.  
  
Three large sacks were wedged into the tight space. Two of the bags were quite large, at least half the  
size of an apple barrel. The third sack was smaller and the string was untied, revealing the contents  
within. Bringing the candle into the shadows of the closet, the glow reflected off the brilliant mass of gold  
coins, silver chains, diamonds, and assorted necklaces made of rubies and jems. The riches sparkled  
joyously, their colors intertwined together in a gleaming beauty. Bilbo did not pay much attention to the  
sight, since he saw it often enough when he needed spare coins to run to the market. Instead he watched  
the expressions of his friends as they grew wide with amazement at the fortune stored for all these years  
in the depths of their master's home.   
  
Bilbo smiled, making a sincere promise to himself that once this was over, he was laying aside such silly  
worries as missing bachelorhood or having writer's block, and spending the next ten years making all of  
this up to his dear nephew, as well as returning generosity to his friends, who even now stared with no  
jealousy or bitterness in their hearts, but simple amazement and wonder.   
  
Clearing his throat, he replied, "This is what's left to the treasure I helped rescue from the dragon Smaug  
on my adventures there and back again."   
  
~*~   
  
Merry and Sam heard the hushed voices of Bilbo and the Gamgees from outside Frodo's room as they  
passed down the hall. Merry scrambled from where he sat slumped in a chair in an attempt to catch their  
words, unsuccessfully. Groaning, he sank onto the ground and rubbed at his sore, aching eyes.   
  
Sam sat with his legs crossed on the floor. Despite Merry's assurances that his cousin would not mind  
him being in his room, the little hobbit had felt there was something rude intruding upon his master's  
space.   
  
"Why don't they want us to hear, do you reckon?" Sam asked, his glassy eyes looking beyond the door.  
  
Merry sniffled."We're just kids they think. They wouldn't let us see the letter for long and now we're  
too young apparently to understand what they're planning. Well if my memory fails me, it was Uncle  
Bilbo who collapsed upon himself, not us." Merry tore his hands through his curls and rubbed at his  
reddening nose.   
  
"No," Sam protested, earnestly. "Tha's not it. If it's, if it's really bad, then they're probably tryin to  
protect us somehow. At least tha's what my Mum does when bad things happen. I'm sure they're  
protectin Mr. Frodo too."   
  
The small, but honest voice of the little hobbit brought Merry's head out from beneath his knees, and he  
struggled to smile through his trembling lips. Honest, considerate hobbit that Sam was, Merry had to  
wonder how he would be faring if this if not for Sam's common sense bringing him out of his own angry  
thoughts. "Thank you, Sam. I really hope that's the case."   
  
For a few moments they sat in silence again. Merry's eyes wandered over the neatly made bed, the piles  
of books stacked upon one shelf, then raised his gaze to the gray sky outside the window. Dense clouds  
had swept in that afternoon, and a thin sheet of silver clouds enveloped the sky. Cool air seeped into the  
room.   
  
"What do you think Frodo's doing?" Merry asked, out of a whim.   
  
Sam jerked his head in response to the question, his honey blonde curls bouncing after him, and Merry  
cursed himself for his mistake in saying that. He hadn't been able to get the question out of his own  
head, and foolishly had said it out loud. But the vague images that had collected inside for the passing  
days, Frodo stumbling into a dark hold, Frodo weaving his way through a corn field while searchers  
passed, had pieced themselves together into a clear and horrifying picture in his mind of Frodo being  
stolen away just miles, probably, from where he had stood. Tears sprung to his swollen eyes.   
  
Sam finally answered the question, although Merry had not expected him to. "My brother Halfred said  
Mr. Frodo might have been taken by men. He might be in a town somewhere. There's Halifax to the  
south, an Bree's not far off either. I think he might be all right."   
  
Merry could see the difficulty it took for Sam to pronounce that with an air of pleasantry, and quickly  
returned the sympathy. Crawling over to the lad and leaning up against Frodo's bed, he put a supportive  
hand on Sam's shoulder. The younger hobbit had been wavering slightly.   
  
"I have some relatives who went to Bree once. It's only a day or two from where I live in Buckland.  
They told me at night it can get rowdy, but during the day, when the sun's shining, they said it can be a  
really nice place."   
  
"Do you think they'll hurt Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, his lip trembling. Merry was shocked Sam asked the  
question he had only implied.   
  
He stared outside at the silvery sky again. "I'm sure if it's Bilbo's money they're after, then they have to  
return him safely, they wouldn't dare hurt him." Merry's blue gray eyes stared coldly out across the hills,  
beyond to where the shadow of the Old Forest lay. "They better not hurt him."   
  
  
TBC  
  
~*~  
  
Foreshadowing much......no, never!......well, maybe just a little. Pardon me, I can be a rotten tease.   
  
Sorry about the long wait, this chapter was harder to develop than I originally thought. Plus, the ugly  
plague known to all writer's as 'blocked' struck again. I'll try to take my anti-writer's block pills more  
often to ensure this doesn't happen again.   
  
Choose-your-own-adventure chapter 10 will be up as soon as possible, though because it's two  
chapters in the making, it might take a tad longer.   
  
Please review! I love to hear feedback from my review bunnies (Claudia, Manc Admirer, Shlee Verde,  
etc. you all know who you are :) as well as new readers. Y'all please let me know how you like it, the  
reviews are an inspiration/motivation in itself and helps me to work faster.   
  
And as always, please help out a soon-to-be English major and let me know what little tid bits you  
liked/found trite.   
  
Love you all, Bella Monte (Lizzie) 


	10. Broken PG13

Title: Treasures  
Author: BellaMonte  
E-Mail: bellamonte@aol.com  
Disclaimer: I own not the characters, they're the sole property of one J.R.R. Tolkien.   
Summary: Gossip ran through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins harbored a vast wealth in the depths of his  
home. A few ruffians attempt to seize that fortune by kidnapping his beloved nephew and holding him  
for ransom. But will all end in a fair exchange?  
Rating: PG-13 for violence and hobbit suffering (the slightly nicer version)  
Notes: I must admit, this came out darker than I'd anticipated. Although this is still in the PG-13 range,  
it's a dark PG-13. Please don't think by the end of it that I'm no more than a calloused witch, it really  
hurt to write. Hense, it took a long time to post. So please don't flame me for the hobbit suffering.   
  
Also, to the readers who intend to read both versions, please feel free (the majority of the chapters are  
virtually identical) but under this reminder: even though the R version is darker, and implies things that  
the PG-13 does not, both versions are written as though Frodo experienced them just once, and he  
ends up in the same place, with the same thoughts, for both. If I wrote it right, both should have the  
same general effect upon him, and it's not as though he knows there's another storyline. Just a thought  
to remember. :)   
  
This chapter is dedicated to LilyBaggins, whose description of Bree in 'Troublemakers' was a great  
inspiration, and to Mainframe, who gave great plot suggestions for this chapter. Thank you both.   
  
~*~  
  
Shlee Verde: So you know who the evil hobbit is? Ooh, you must tell me where your detective work  
has taken you thus far. I give nothing away of course, just be wary that there could be some rather  
unexpected turns, as mysteries often due. :)   
  
TTTurtle: To answer question, I decided on chapter 10 to be Chapter 10 (PG-13) and (R) so I  
wouldn't have to include a chapter to explain officially again what was planned.   
  
zorra: Hey there, hope this story gave you a good battery charge. I know the feeling, I need a good  
chapter of a fav. story each day or I get very restless and crabby.  
  
Ariel: Again, I'm so glad you like and you're not embarrassed enough to declare it to the world! :)  
Your stories are phenomenally well written, and to hear it from you is an honor. Hope you like icky and  
dark chapter 10. If it's written right, it's got the angst and heartache all round.   
  
Manc Admirer: As always, your review reassured me completely about all that time spent wracking my  
brain with the details. Thank you so much for mentioning all the little tid bits you like, they're what can  
frustrate the most, but to know someone reads them and appreciates them makes me feel a whole lot  
better about writing them. :)   
To answer your question about how many chapters, to be honest it's still up in the air. As I write I'm  
still plotting out the details to the upcoming chapters, and although there's a definite ending, the in-  
between is vague at this point. Course I don't want to spoil the ending or upcoming chapters, but I'll  
give you an estimate that this story is definitely more than 20 chapters.   
And hard work? Naw, not really, I love to write, and you are all flabbergasting me with your feedback,  
and that makes the writing a lot more worthwhile.   
  
Myfanwy: Woah! I am so unbelievably flattered at your praise, best of all time story? You just made  
my week. Know that compliment made feel more glad than ever before that I decided to write this  
story after all. As long as you all like it, I'll write to the best of my abilities and within a relatively short  
time span. And about the tissues, well, have them prepared. Just in case. (nudge :)  
  
ThE iNsAnE oNe : Frodo plush toy? Oh, that's cute! I want one too!  
  
Elerrina Wood: Your line about the treasure did confoozle me a bit :) Heehee, that's okay. But yeah, I  
decided that it would be agony all around if Bilbo had been a naughty spend thrift and rid himself of his  
dough all at once and had nothing left to give the insane bastards, so I decided he had enough left over  
to pay. I hope I've conveyed Bilbo in the light that yes, he can be a grump, but when it boils down to it  
money isn't what changed him, it was his adventures, remember he's still so nit picky about a clean  
house and saving up every morsel of food in sight. If nothing else, I've depicted him as a cheapie!   
  
shirebound: Thanks for letting me know what lines you liked! It was funny you found that one line  
'when it came down to it, bilbo enjoyed the mystery shrouding his life' very good, because I was still  
screaming at myself 'that sucks!' when I posted that chapter, and kicked myself thereafter for not re-  
working it. Thanks for letting me know it passed unscathed! :)  
  
tiggivon: Your support's greatly appreciated, tiggivon. Your review was very reassuring and I'm glad  
you like the idea for the two chapters. Hope you enjoy whichever one's to your choice.   
  
~*~   
  
Frodo was dreaming again. It was strange, the scene was identical to a day when he was fourteen and  
had broken down on his uncle's shoulder. He had been struggling over a difficult math problem all  
morning, and it had frustrated him to no end to see he'd drawn more pictures of trees and little orcs on  
the paper than he had doing the math problems. He had asked Bilbo why math was necessary, when it  
was so boring and complicated, and he was certain there would never be a time when he needed to  
determine the area of a corn field or subdivide the ratios of apples per season.   
  
He felt like a failure entirely; the impossibility of solving something as asinine as a math problem had  
slowly begun to feel like the challenge his own life had become, of figuring out complicated problems  
that no one else seemed troubled with, and always being a step away from getting it right. He was  
fourteen. His parents had only been dead two years..   
  
"Why is it so hard, Uncle?" he sobbed. He wondered if his uncle knew what he was talking about.  
From the firm, reassuring grip of his uncle's arm round him, he thought he did.   
  
That had been what really happened. As he dreamt it, he was alarmed when, instead of breaking down  
in front of his uncle when he asked what was wrong, he put on a half smile and said he was fine.  
Although he had wanted to cry, his mouth betrayed him and cleverly relieved his uncle from inquiring  
further. He frowned, this wasn't right; something had changed in him since the time when he would have  
cried. Perhaps it had been his relative's disinterest in his problems that had forced his mouth closed, or  
the span of time spent alone that had caused him to burrow into himself and now prevented him from  
crying out as his uncle walked away.   
  
~*~  
  
Sharp creaking of the steps jarred Frodo awake. He could tell it was night. The pale light that had  
shone through the cracks and pores of the ceiling earlier was gone. Who knew what day it was? The  
only measurement Frodo could find for the passage of time was by his strengthening pains and hunger.   
  
The clumsy movements grew closer until the trap door opened, and the dark, hulking form of Rob  
Strasser emerged. He was grumbling something low and awful, and Frodo paused in his fear to wonder  
whether he breathed gratingly out of nature, or he simply enjoyed spoiling the silence with his bitter  
growling. Frodo stiffened as the man towered over him. It appeared as though Strasser was the only  
one there, and though he feared both kidnappers, he knew Strasser was the more violent and short  
tempered of the two. His cheek was still swollen from the last blow.   
  
Bending down, Strasser yanked the gag from his mouth so it lay under his chin, then roughly untied his  
bonds. Frodo's mind was jumbled as he tried to think of a way he could politely ask to go to the  
bathroom, in the corner if he had to, when the man beat him to the question. "Ye have to go, haflin?" he  
leered.   
  
Frodo's heard leapt at the long-awaited opportunity, and he nodded. The ruffian bellowed at the  
gratefulness that shone in the hobbit's wide blue eyes. After the blow he'd given him earlier, the thing  
still looked at him with partial trust. He had never seen anything so pure and naive, even after being  
dragged through the mire. It was pathetic.   
  
"Keep yer trap closed, then." He picked the hobbit up around the waist and began to carry him down  
the stairs. "Ye make a squeak, and I'll knock ye cross the room."   
  
  
The threat silenced him, and dimmed his rising hope that being taken out of the attic would give him an  
opportunity to escape somehow. He shouldn't be thinking about escape, when the pains in his lower  
belly convinced him if he dared to move too much he would probably wet himself. As his eyes met the  
glow of the candles lining the hallway, he was confronted with further discouragement, for he'd been in  
the dark for so long that the light was straining and he was forced to keep his eyes closed from the  
scene around him as Strasser dragged him down an empty hallway then another stairwell.   
  
Preparing to exit through a back doorway, Strasser paused to adjust his coat, and tighten his hold on  
the little hobbit. As he did so, he stopped in front of a mirror placed upon a table, and Frodo was  
startled as he saw his own filthy, ragged reflection.   
  
One of his older cousins had gotten into a fight once, and Frodo remembered the sickening  
discoloration of his face from the bruises and the grass stains on his clothes. Everyone had teased him,  
calling him 'purple face.' Frodo had thought that was what a sorry hobbit looked like, until he saw his  
own pitiful image in the mirror.   
  
His white cotton shirt, the one Bilbo had given to him just weeks before, with the promise of more on  
their way, now hung a torn, grimy rag upon his chest. His breeches were similarly filthy, and there was a  
large tear in one knee. He might have mistaken the image as a scarecrow or enlarged rag doll, if not for  
his face. Glassy, bloodshot eyes stared back from his limp brown curls and sickly white skin. There  
was a purple, oval shaped bruise on one cheek and dried blood had crusted below his nose and chin.  
While Frodo only had a chance to see himself for a mere second before he was pulled away, the   
marring details of what the past days had visibly done to him solidified in his mind, even after the image  
was torn away.   
  
The cold air seared through Frodo's ripped clothing as Strasser flung open a door to the outside. It was  
night and the sky was an inky black. Frodo looked up, hoping to feel the pale moonlight upon his face,  
but there was no moon, and no stars.   
  
There was a tall rock wall closing the small yard in, and Strasser dragged him through the patch of  
muddy gras to a small, dismay shack in the far corner. He unlatched the bolt to the door, and dumped  
Frodo inside.   
  
"Do yer business," he commanded, and slammed the door behind him.   
  
Frodo caught his breath as he stumbled, and fell hands and knees into the mud. His head pitched down  
at the foul smell that rose from the hole a few feet away, but he was relieved at least to be given some  
privacy. It took some effort to crawl over with the sharp pains in his side, but once he managed to  
unbutton his pants, a sigh of relief expelled from him, and he felt much of the weakness that had tortured  
him the past days drain away in a matter of seconds. Once he was finished, he was surprised to find  
some of his strength returned, and he was able to stand on his wobbly legs.   
  
  
Frodo was startled by a powerful bang on the door. "Hurry up!" the voice boomed. When no answer  
came, the door flung open, and Strasser dragged him out and back to the building.   
  
With one mighty hand wrapped round Frodo's arm, Strasser dug his hand into his pockets, cursing to  
find only a few coins left. "Damn, do I need a drink," he muttered, rubbing his brown lips at the sudden  
thirst for brandy.   
  
He paused in his tracks, and turned from the doorway to the alleyway, debating whether to bring the  
hobbit with him; feeling too tired to climb the three floors to the attic of the inn again, he pulled the  
tweenager along through the alley that led to the street.   
  
Frodo was stunned as his wild-haired kidnappers headed towards the faint sounds of the town beyond.  
Could it be, was this man witless enough to take him outside before the people of Bree? His heart  
began to race joyously as he saw light through the tunnel, and muddled noises sharpen into distinct  
sounds of horses grunting, feet sploshing, and voices, real voices, talking so near him!   
  
He could already feel the comforting arms round him, the looks of astonishment and horror at Strasser  
clutching him, as the man continued to push him forwards. While reveling in the hope of escape, it  
occurred to him vaguely that this was his first view of the world outside the Shire. With that final  
thought, Strasser dragged him through the inlet, and he feasted his eyes upon the scene before him; and  
cringed.   
  
"Ye don't think none of makin a fool o' yourself," Strasser threatened. "It's not like anyone here's  
gonna care what a worthless imp's moanin for. They'll most likely knock ye out themselves fer  
bothering 'em."   
  
As Frodo stared at the ugly world before him, he knew the man was probably right.   
  
Oil lamps hung like pale balls of fire in an otherwise black and depressing world. Instead of the hills and  
little hobbit holes with round doors that Frodo was familiar with, the town was constructed of shabby  
buildings that stood three stories high above the ground. Their jagged roofs and broken window  
shutters gave them the appearance of ruined towers, obscured by the same wear of wind, rain and  
grime as his attic prison. There were no trees anywhere - trees were smart enough to hesitate growing  
from the murky slush of the street; even the smallest flower had no place to sprout within the clustered  
maze of the buildings. Frodo searched frantically for a glimpse of green, a shade of blue or yellow  
maybe, but any such color had faded in the gloom of everything gray and dismal that resided here.   
  
Men trudged through the street, carting horses beside them and laughing hoarsely over mugs of beer,  
paying no attention to the little hobbit and his abuser who dragged him along. Although it was no longer  
raining, a damp chill hung in the air, and most of the men were shrouded in heavy cloaks that masked  
their features. From what Frodo could see of heads that poked out suspiciously from their hoods, the  
men had greasy and unkempt hair round pale and bearded faces, and many carried swords and arrows  
to their sides. While it was polite in the Shire to bid everyone hello as they passed, the passing men  
spoke nothing to each other if they were not with someone, and instead shot each other looks of  
suspicion or threat.   
  
Frodo gaped as he observed the hideous inhabitants of Bree, and their frightening resemblance to his  
kidnappers. Up to this point, he'd been sure Rob Strasser and Tony Chattin were outcasts or  
abnormalities in a race of men that was generally good, clean and honest. Yet as Strasser pulled him  
along through the passing foes, he felt like a freak himself, for the ruffian blended in perfectly to the  
scene while Frodo was the one who looked queer and displaced.   
  
'This can't be right, this can't be the world outside the Shire! Where are the beautiful forests, the  
running rivers, the elven palaces!' He had never seen a place so horrible to compare this to, except  
maybe the pig dung piles in the back of his Uncle Saradoc's farm! As he looked round, he felt his  
hopes wane to see no haven to run to, nor sympathizing ear that would respond to his cries.   
  
Strasser was growing furious from yanking the hobbit forward every few seconds. He turned to tell him  
to move faster, when he caught the look of disgust, plain as day, on the little hobbit's face as he took in  
his surroundings. The ruffian's beady eyes narrowed.   
  
"What 'er you staring at, hafling?" he asked, his voice low and threatening.   
  
"N-nothing," Frodo stammered, as he continued to stare with nervousness and revolution.   
  
This infuriated the man, and he seized the hobbit by the collar, bringing his face close to his.   
  
"What, ye don't like it here?" he hissed. "You think you're better n' this, little prince?"   
  
Frodo shook his head in protest, but the man's crooked teeth were gleaming in his face, and his breath  
reeked of rotten eggs and ale. "No," he managed to gasp.   
  
Strasser saw the pale, innocent little face flinch. "Oh no?" Strasser sneered. Grabbing him by the  
shoulders, he turned him around and slammed him down into a deep mud puddle on the ground.   
  
Frodo choked as he fell face first into the mud. Sour water splashed in his mouth, and he felt the cold,  
slushy mud sink in around him, completely soaking his breeches and soiling any remaining white to his  
shirt. Tears flooded his eyes, and he tried to blink them away, but they ran at their own will. He lay  
drowning in his own disgust, what a filthy, worthless rag he must look like now. Then he felt ashamed  
for the thought. Was he really a snob after all?   
  
Rough hands pulled him up. Through his tears, he could hear the scraggly-haired ruffian laughing at him,  
mocking him. "You've been reared in luxury, have ye? Tha's right, I know it, wimpy little haflin lives  
with his uncle in a golden palace an never got his clothes dirty. You should see what ye look like now."   
  
Frodo opened his mouth to protest that he'd been dirty plenty of times, but his sobs stifled him. His  
silence seemed to infuriate the man more, and he gripped Frodo painfully by the forearms, turning him  
to face the street and the cloaked strangers passing by.   
  
"Ye see them?" Strasser said, his voice and low and close to Frodo's ear. "Go run to 'em if ye don't  
like it here. Ye think they're better?" He grabbed Frodo's wrist and jerked it towards a few men with  
arrows in their hands. "That's old Meigs an Neville, they wuz poachers down south, looks like they've  
come back from hunting. They've used hobbits who strayed too far from the Shire for shooting  
practice, they have. And lookee there," he turned the little hobbit to see a few men hauling a dead  
carcass near them. "They ain't got spare change fer forks n' knives, now, why they'll eat that tasty  
animal raw off the bone!" He laughed roughly again, smacking his lips at the thought of such a meal.  
  
Frodo wanted to look away. He tried to look away. Everything in him screamed, 'Run! Get away from  
here! Die if you have to but close your eyes!' But for some reason, he couldn't; it was as though his  
eyes had frozen in an unseeing stare, and everything that passed before them burned into him. All the  
while his menacing kidnapper's voice rung in his ear, "This is the real world, ye little hobbits live like  
spoiled brats snug in yer holes. Why, ye don't even live in the world, do ye, ye live in holes in the  
ground! So don't give me looks as though yer anythin special, ye moanin brat!"   
  
Black spots appeared in front of his eyes as everything - the dark sky, the dripping mud on his clothes,  
the claws gripping him, and the familiar words of his relatives telling him what a lazy daydreamer he was  
and he had to wake up the world, suddenly transformed into the voice of Strasser - began to invade  
him.   
  
Frodo watched a dog amble between a small crowd of men, whimpering in a plea for food or comfort,  
only to receive a vicious kick, before it hobbled away. He watched as a human child, just his height,  
attempted to pickpocket the coat of a drunken man, and was struck down at being discovered.   
  
Was this the world he had wanted to explore? Was this the reality everyone had wanted him to wake  
up and see? No it wasn't, it couldn't be! There had to be more than just this! He just had to close his  
eyes and let his mind drift away, just as he had done in math class, just as he dreamed. And yet his eyes  
refused to close, as guilt of his own stupidity swarmed inside of him and attacked him with the same  
words as his relatives, the same words as the ruffian who clutched him. He had been so ungrateful - so  
foolish - so blind. He had almost asked for this, demanding adventure while disregarding the conflict,  
the pain, the ugliness in the world that he had always tried to ignore. Well he couldn't ignore it now; it  
surrounded him, dripped off of him, clutched him like a vice. Just as he had felt his parent's slipping  
away from him forever as they disappeared beneath the water, he felt a part of himself, which had been  
unhesitatingly eager and demanded to know and see everything there was in the world, suddenly  
weaken and cave in.  
  
"Hey Rob! What ya got there?" a voice suddenly called.   
  
  
Both Frodo and Strasser turned to see several men break from the crowd and advance towards them.  
They had wild, scraggy hair that hung round their ruddy faces, wore worn tunics and patched breeches,  
and were all shrouded in cloaks that blew behind him, revealing arrow patches on their backs and  
swords clasped to their sides. Frodo realized these must be his kidnapper's friends, and he shuddered  
at their sinister resemblance.   
  
"What's this? What do ye have a haflin for?" One of them asked, resting a hand on his sword and  
eyeing the little hobbit with curiosity.   
  
Strasser shot Frodo a malicious grin; Frodo's pulse resumed its incessant pounding. He suddenly knew  
what the ruthless man was planning; while Tony Chattin was intent on using him to get Bilbo's ransom  
and nothing more, Strasser regarded him as something stupid, snotty and spoiled, and seemed  
determined to make him suffer in any way possible for being that way.   
  
"Nothin much, just makin a little money off it. You wanna see 'em? Here, take a look!" Strasser  
coaxed, gripping the back of Frodo's collar before thrusting him forward for the men to see.   
  
'Elbereth help me!' Frodo prayed as the dark eyes bored down on him. He still felt terribly weak from  
hunger and pain, and struggled to stand up straight while he was already so frail and small. 'Bilbo please  
pay for me, don't leave me like this, please!'  
  
"It's a tiny little thing. What, you givin it to Fang?" one of the ruffians asked, scornfully. "I hear he's  
runnin out of hobbit workers, what with the new gang that just traveled up from the south."   
  
Strasser bellowed at this, shaking Frodo as he continued to dangle him before the men. "No, I've got  
im for a different purpose, but that's an idea. What do you say, little imp, you wanna stay here after  
we're done with ye?" he asked, darkly.   
  
"No!" Frodo's voice cracked. They were all around him now, standing just inches away, their eyes  
raking him up and down as they he were the next delicious entree for dinner. He began to tremble  
uncontrollably, never in his life had he felt so small, helpless, vulnerable. 'Oh somebody please help me,  
stop looking at me! Get away!'   
  
One of them, with a fat, round face and a peeling red nose, noticed as Frodo wrapped his arms round  
himself in protection, also to hide his shaking limbs. "Wha's the matter with him, he looks like a cat on a  
branch the way he quails!"   
  
"Aw, he doesn't like it here," Strasser informed them, mockingly. "He thinks we're stinking buggers  
that live in these parts."   
  
The eyes went back to the little hobbit, and he quailed, expecting fury and heavy blows. Instead, the  
men exchanged humorous glances and grim laughs.  
  
"Is that so?" A man with pale blue eyes said, provokingly. His lips curled in a sly smile. "Well the little  
thing hasn't been here long enough to enjoy the comp'ny. C'mon, we're all heading to the inn, bring  
'em with ye and we'll show im' some good times."   
  
"No, no, let me go!" Frodo protested, thrashing and pulling himself to the ground in a desperate attempt  
to free himself. "Let me go, stop this, please!" His anguished cries sounded small and pitiful even to his  
own ears. It must have looked pathetic and amusing to passing onlookers, and Frodo could see himself  
from a view, appearing as no more than a small, whimpering child, crying like a baby because they  
didn't want to be taken somewhere boring. As this hateful image swam in his mind, he weakened in the  
arms that latched onto him and pulled him into a nearby building.   
  
Heavy smoke hung in the air, and men staggered in and out of the haze, most of them drunk and cursing  
violently. A few were arm wrestling a table and two had removed all their possessions, from their  
swords to their socks, before them on the table as they challenged the other in a game of cards.   
  
The ruffians shoved their way through the crowd, finding a table in a back corner, and shouted for  
drinks to be brought. Frodo was shoved in between Strasser and the ruffian with the curling lips. As  
they all settled themselves into chairs and benches, they removed uncomfortable objects, such as knives  
and pipes from their pockets, and laid them out on the table for the little hobbit to see. But the little  
hobbit was nearly forgotten as he remained wedged between the two large, stinking bodies, his face  
barely reaching the top of the table.   
  
"So how's work in the south?" One of the ruffians asked as he lit his pipe with greasy fingers.   
  
"It's damn awful right now," another growled. "Some lord down n' Rohan sent guards to the village we  
wuz raidin. The land's all patrolled, n' the horses aren't any good to steal there."   
  
"We hear Byars is dead. That true?" the curly lipped one demanded.   
  
"It is. The idiot n' I wuz hiding under a bridge when a guard came lookin. We would've gotten off, but  
Byars tried to stab the man an ended up gettin' shot with an arrow himself. Straight through his head it  
went, in one ear n' out the other."   
  
"No kidding!" another exclaimed, and the entire group broke out in hoarse laughter. From there, they  
talked of robberies they'd committed in neighboring lands, counting the number of animals they'd  
poached on forbidden lands, boasted over how much blood they'd spilled in their time, and all manners  
of evil they'd participated in. They spoke with such pride and indifference, that Frodo might have  
imagined they were wagering the quality of the crops next year, while they smoked their pipes and  
gulped their beer just as any hobbit in a pub would do.  
  
All the while, Frodo tried so hard not to breathe in the nauseating smells, he tried to close his eyes from  
the filthy, sweaty hands that swiped at coins and grabbed at passing women's bodies, he tried not to  
listen to the horrifying tales that had happened while he laid snuggled in his warm chair by the fire. But it  
was all too much, too real, and again he felt himself lost and suffocated in the smoke and decay of this  
horrible scene.   
  
  
"Finally, the food's here!" one of the ruffians grumbled. Frodo looked up from where his eyes had been  
watching his clenched hands to see the carcass of a dead deer slam on the table.   
  
Frodo nearly bit his tongue to suppress the disgusted shriek. He hadn't seen a deer in so long, for the  
dear creatures enjoyed living in forests away from the activity of Hobbiton. This deer was so young,  
and had been shot with an arrow that remained lodged in its belly. Its stiff head had landed right at  
Frodo's face, its blank eyes staring at Frodo's, which were slowly dimming out with grief and sorrow.   
  
Immediately the men grabbed their knives and began hacking at the poor dead animal, grabbing  
handfuls of the still warm creature and gnawing it in starving relish. Frodo's stomach lurched as the  
nauseating stench of the raw meat hit him, and he backed up against the wall as far as he could, turning  
away from the creature's blank gaze.   
  
Strasser scowled at him. "Wha's the matter, not likin the meal?" he mocked, a heavy pound of flesh  
hanging from one side of his mouth.   
  
Frodo moaned, his face contorted in a near sneer of horror and disgust. He curled into himself, shaking.   
  
"You'd better have some, I ain't givin you nothin else tonight, it's that or nothing. Eat er else starve  
some more."   
  
"You're right Strasser, it is a pathetic wimp. Here, rat, taste it," The other ruffian next to him said, and  
grabbing a handful of the warm guts, clutched Frodo's chin and shoved the raw meat in his mouth.   
  
Frodo gagged at the taste of the slimy meat that had once been a beautiful animal, and he instantly spit it  
out on the table. The nausea was too much at this point, and he swayed for a moment before he  
vomited up the small contents in his belly as well.   
  
Groans and shouts erupted from the ruffians. "Ye pitiful brat, I should've known better to bring ye!"  
Strasser growled, backhanding the hobbit into the wall.   
  
Frodo wept uncontrollably, bringing his trembling hands up to his face, attempting to hide his wretched  
sobs and ward off further blows.   
  
"Aww," one voice whined, mockingly. "He's even more precious when he's sad."   
  
"He is," another one agreed. "I swear, Rob, send this one ta Fang's, he'd just love to have a pretty  
thing like this workin for him."   
  
Frodo suddenly felt a calloused hand on his cheek, pinching it teasingly, then caressing his bruise.   
In a moment Frodo snapped, and before he knew it he'd slipped underneath the table with a speed he  
never knew he had. Hands reached down to grab him, but the weakness of his limbs and the terror that  
had made him supple vanished in the frenzy to escape. While the men leaped up and had to tear  
through the large and clumsy foes, Frodo was small enough to scuttle below the crowd with ease. He   
heard the growls from behind him as he dashed round the front entrance and out the door.   
  
He was free! Free! In the split-second realization of his own liberation, he burst into tears, and ran as  
fast as he could down the street to it didn't matter where. At this point, he could in the forests if he had  
to, to lie there for eternity would be so much better, just as long as he was away from what just  
escaped from, it didn't matter.   
  
He was free! No hands seized him, no ropes bound him, he was himself again and felt the open air  
around him, foul and dank as it was, at long last he could breathe it freely! Stumbling into the darkness  
of the street, he embraced the freedom with outstretched arms and sobbed in terror and relief.   
  
He heard the presence behind him just a second too late, and he felt the swift kick before he was  
knocked forwards into the mud again. He cried out at the sharp pain in his back where Strasser had  
kicked him, and he tried to get up, only to receive another furious blow to his side.   
  
"Stupid rat! Ye think ye can get away so easily?" Strasser seethed, grabbing Frodo off the ground and  
shook him with a force more powerful than Frodo had ever known. "Ye hear me? Ye filthy, snotty  
worm! Yer not goin anywhere, ye understand? Yer a little gold nugget fer Tony n' I and then I'll leave  
ye dead on the road 'er drown ye in the Brandywine if Tony won't do it."   
  
The little hobbit choked again in renewed despair. "Here," Strasser growled, tossing him to the curly  
lipped ruffian who had followed. "Hold him," he said. As Frodo hung once more in the firm grasp of the  
ruffian, Strasser backed up to give one final kick to Frodo's stomach, and the little hobbit sprawled into  
the puddle of mud and his own blood.   
  
Dull laughter rung in Frodo's ears as he fought to heave air into his searing lungs. The kicks Strasser  
had delivered were so forceful, so painful, that Frodo retched up a small amount of blood that mingled  
with the taste of vomit and carcass that still remained. They just stood over him a while, as Frodo  
gasped in renewed shock and despair, tears spilling and rising his eyes from the mud there. After what  
felt like an eternity of writhing in the mud and despair, he lifted his head to see passer-byes laughing at  
him, pointing at him. It was a dark moment when Frodo caught sight of a few hobbits standing among  
the mix of the men, and instead of helping him up chose to intermingle in the laughter of their human  
rulers.   
  
Everyone was pointing at him with revulsion, laughing at his miserable, pathetic state, and he couldn't  
find the will to lift himself up, but instead sunk into the mud that pooled around him, cast his head down  
in despair.   
  
He was a brat after all, to not be able to survive this, when it was just mud, and mockery, and the truth.  
He was the whining nuisance that his relatives had said, he was the curious fool who searched for  
adventure and comfort in the wrong places, or mistook it for something that wasn't even there. What  
other reason could there be for this?   
  
He was so caught up in the torrent of his own misery, that he almost didn't feel himself being dragged  
up again. "Well, I s'pose yer getting life down good here. Now you're more filthy an disgustin than the  
rest of us!"   
  
A final peal of laughter broke from the ruffians before Strasser informed them he had to go, and carried  
the broken hobbit upstairs. As they entered through the back door again, Frodo turned away from the  
mirror. He could watch the dead deer, the hobbits laughing at him, the piercing stares, but he couldn't  
look at himself. He didn't want to know what the last hour or so now revealed.   
  
Strasser kicked the chair away once they reached the top floor, and dumped him onto a small cot  
instead. As he tied him up again, Frodo wondered if the ruffian had any idea of what he had just done  
to him, destroyed in him. As he followed Strasser's movements, climbing down the stairs and laughing  
low in his throat, he knew he did.   
  
  
TBC  
  
After this, should I ask for you all to read/review?.....well, I'd love to know how you liked this chapter.  
Please tell me I'm terribly cruel and there better be better happenings soon, somewhere, because that's  
what I was yelling to myself even as I wrote the thing .  
  
I hope that the separate versions does not cause any great confusion or dispute, I solely did it to please  
you for being such wonderful, dedicated readers.   
  
Thanks so much for your constant support! You all make me remember the joy to writing . 


	11. Broken R

Title: Treasures  
Author: BellaMonte  
E-Mail: bellamonte@aol.com  
Disclaimer: I own not the characters, they're the sole property of one J.R.R. Tolkien.   
Summary: Gossip ran through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins harbored a vast wealth in the depths of his  
home. A few ruffians attempt to seize that fortune by kidnapping his beloved nephew and holding him  
for ransom. But will all end in a fair exchange?  
Rating: R for violence and sexual abuse (not rape)   
Notes: This is the darker version of the chapter, and brings Frodo to a darker place than the PG-13,  
although the stories are virtually the same. Those who read this version I can safely assume enjoy the  
hobbit angst, so I won't go off about how painful this was to write and how I hope you don't all think  
I'm a calloused witch. But it did hurt to write. Hense, it took a long time to post. I hope you all enjoy!   
  
Also, to the readers who intend to read both versions, please feel free (although the majority of the  
chapters are virtually identical), but under this reminder: even though the R version is darker, and  
implies things that the PG-13 does not, both versions are written as though Frodo experienced them  
just once, and he ends up in the same place, with the same thoughts, for both. If I wrote it right, both  
should have the same general effect upon him, and it's not as though he knows there's another storyline.  
Just a thought to remember. :)   
  
This chapter is dedicated to LilyBaggins, whose description of Bree in 'Troublemakers' was a great  
inspiration, and to Mainframe, who gave great plot suggestions for this chapter. Thank you both.   
  
~*~  
  
Mish: Feel free to bash away at my grammar, I know there are mistakes riddled within the story.  
  
Shlee Verde: So you know who the evil hobbit is? Ooh, you must tell me where your detective work  
has taken you thus far. I give nothing away of course, just be wary that there could be some rather  
unexpected turns, as mysteries often due. :)   
  
TTTurtle: To answer question, I decided on chapter 10 to be Chapter 10 (PG-13) and (R) so I  
wouldn't have to include a chapter to explain officially again what was planned.   
  
zorra: Hey there, hope this story gave you a good battery charge. I know the feeling, I need a good  
chapter of a fav. story each day or I get very restless and crabby.  
  
Ariel: Again, I'm so glad you like and you're not embarrassed enough to declare it to the world! :)  
Your stories are phenomenally well written, and to hear it from you is an honor. Hope you like icky and  
dark chapter 10. If it's written right, it's got the angst and heartache all round.   
  
Manc Admirer: As always, your review reassured me completely about all that time spent wracking my  
brain with the details. Thank you so much for mentioning all the little tid bits you like, they're what can  
frustrate the most, but to know someone reads them and appreciates them makes me feel a whole lot  
better about writing them. :)   
To answer your question about how many chapters, to be honest it's still up in the air. As I write I'm  
still plotting out the details to the upcoming chapters, and although there's a definite ending, the in-  
between is vague at this point. Course I don't want to spoil the ending or upcoming chapters, but I'll  
give you an estimate that this story is definitely more than 20 chapters.   
And hard work? Naw, not really, I love to write, and you are all flabbergasting me with your feedback,  
and that makes the writing a lot more worthwhile.   
  
Myfanwy: Woah! I am so unbelievably flattered at your praise, best of all time story? You just made  
my week. Know that compliment made feel more glad than ever before that I decided to write this  
story after all. As long as you all like it, I'll write to the best of my abilities and within a relatively short  
time span. And about the tissues, well, have them prepared. Just in case. (nudge :)  
  
ThE iNsAnE oNe : Frodo plush toy? Oh, that's cute! I want one too!  
  
Elerrina Wood: Your line about the treasure did confoozle me a bit :) Heehee, that's okay. But yeah, I  
decided that it would be agony all around if Bilbo had been a naughty spend thrift and rid himself of his  
dough all at once and had nothing left to give the insane bastards, so I decided he had enough left over  
to pay. I hope I've conveyed Bilbo in the light that yes, he can be a grump, but when it boils down to it  
money isn't what changed him, it was his adventures, remember he's still so nit picky about a clean  
house and saving up every morsel of food in sight. If nothing else, I've depicted him as a cheapie!   
  
shirebound: Thanks for letting me know what lines you liked! It was funny you found that one line  
'when it came down to it, bilbo enjoyed the mystery shrouding his life' very good, because I was still  
screaming at myself 'that sucks!' when I posted that chapter, and kicked myself thereafter for not re-  
working it. Thanks for letting me know it passed unscathed! :)  
  
tiggivon: Your support's greatly appreciated, tiggivon. Your review was very reassuring and I'm glad  
you like the idea for the two chapters. Hope you enjoy whichever one's to your choice.   
  
~*~   
  
Frodo was dreaming again. It was strange, the scene was identical to a day when he was fourteen and  
had broken down in front of his uncle. He had been struggling over a difficult math problem all morning,  
and it had frustrated him to no end to see he'd drawn more pictures of trees and little orcs on the paper  
than he had doing the math problems. He had asked Bilbo why math was necessary, when it was so  
boring and complicated, and he was certain there would never be a time when he needed to determine  
the area of a corn field or subdivide the ratios of apples per season.   
  
He felt like a failure entirely; the impossibility of solving something as asinine as a math problem had  
slowly begun to feel like the challenge his own life had become, of figuring out complicated problems  
that no one else seemed troubled with, and always being a step away from getting it right. He was  
fourteen. His parents had only been dead two years..   
  
"Why is it so hard, Uncle?" he sobbed. He wondered if his uncle knew what he was talking about.  
From the firm, reassuring grip of his uncle's arm round him, he thought he did.   
  
That had been what really happened. As he dreamt it, he was alarmed when, instead of breaking down  
in front of his uncle when he asked what was wrong, he put on a half smile and said he was fine.  
Although he had wanted to cry, his mouth betrayed him and cleverly relieved his uncle from inquiring  
further. He frowned, this wasn't right; something had changed in him since the time when he would have  
cried. Perhaps it had been his relative's disinterest in his problems that had forced his mouth closed, or  
the span of time spent alone that had caused him to burrow into himself and now prevented him from  
crying out as his uncle walked away.   
  
~*~  
  
Sharp creaking of the steps jarred Frodo awake. He could tell it was night. The pale light that had  
shone through the cracks and pores of the ceiling earlier was gone. Who knew what day it was? The  
only measurement Frodo could find for the passage of time was by his strengthening pains and hunger.   
  
The clumsy movements grew closer until the trap door opened, and the dark, hulking form of Rob  
Strasser emerged. He was grumbling something low and awful, and Frodo paused in his fear to wonder  
whether he breathed gratingly out of nature, or he simply enjoyed spoiling the silence with his bitter  
growling. Frodo stiffened as the man towered over him. It appeared as though Strasser was the only  
one there, and though he feared both kidnappers, he knew Strasser was the more violent and short  
tempered of the two. His cheek was still swollen from the last blow.   
  
Bending down, Strasser yanked the gag from his mouth so it lay under his chin, then roughly untied his  
bonds. Frodo's mind was jumbled as he tried to think of a way he could politely ask to go to the  
bathroom, in the corner if he had to, when the man beat him to the question. "Ye have to go, haflin?" he  
leered.   
  
Frodo's heard leapt at the long-awaited opportunity, and he nodded. The ruffian bellowed at the  
gratefulness that shone in the hobbit's wide blue eyes. After the blow he'd given him earlier, the thing  
still looked at him with partial trust. He had never seen anything so pure and naive, even after being  
dragged through the mire. It was pathetic.   
  
"Keep yer trap closed, then." He picked the hobbit up around the waist and began to carry him down  
the stairs. "Ye make a squeak, and I'll knock ye cross the room."   
  
The threat silenced him, and dimmed his rising hope that being taken out of the attic would give him an  
opportunity to escape somehow. He shouldn't be thinking about escape, when the pains in his lower  
belly convinced him if he dared to move too much he would probably wet himself. As his eyes met the  
glow of the candles lining the hallway, he was confronted with further discouragement, for he'd been in  
the dark for so long that the light was straining and he was forced to keep his eyes closed from the  
scene around him as Strasser dragged him down an empty hallway then another stairwell.   
  
Preparing to exit through a back doorway, Strasser paused to adjust his coat, and tighten his hold on  
the little hobbit. As he did so, he stopped in front of a mirror placed upon a table, and Frodo was  
startled as he saw his own filthy, ragged reflection.   
  
One of his older cousins had gotten into a fight once, and Frodo remembered the sickening  
discoloration of his face from the bruises and the grass stains on his clothes. Everyone had teased him,  
calling him 'purple face.' Frodo had thought that was what a sorry hobbit looked like, until he saw his  
own pitiful image in the mirror.   
  
His white cotton shirt, the one Bilbo had given to him just weeks before, with the promise of more on  
their way, now hung a torn, grimy rag upon his chest. His breeches were similarly filthy, and there was a  
large tear in one knee. He might have mistaken the image as a scarecrow or enlarged rag doll, if not for  
his face. Glassy, bloodshot eyes stared back from his limp brown curls and sickly white skin. There  
was a purple, oval shaped bruise on one cheek and dried blood had crusted below his nose and chin.  
While Frodo only had a chance to see himself for a mere second before he was pulled away, the   
marring details of what the past days had visibly done to him solidified in his mind, even after the image  
was torn away.   
  
The cold air seared through Frodo's ripped clothing as Strasser flung open a door to the outside. It was  
night and the sky was an inky black. Frodo looked up, hoping to feel the pale moonlight upon his face,  
but there was no moon, and no stars.   
  
There was a tall rock wall closing the small yard in, and Strasser dragged him through the patch of  
muddy gras to a small, dismay shack in the far corner. He unlatched the bolt to the door, and dumped  
Frodo inside.   
  
"Do yer business," he commanded, and slammed the door behind him.   
  
Frodo caught his breath as he stumbled, and fell hands and knees into the mud. His head pitched down  
at the foul smell that rose from the hole a few feet away, but he was relieved at least to be given some  
privacy. It took some effort to crawl over with the sharp pains in his side, but once he managed to  
unbutton his pants, a sigh of relief expelled from him, and he felt much of the weakness that had tortured  
him the past days drain away in a matter of seconds. Once he was finished, he was surprised to find  
some of his strength returned, and he was able to stand on his wobbly legs.   
  
Frodo was startled by a powerful bang on the door. "Hurry up!" the voice boomed. When no answer  
came, the door flung open, and Strasser dragged him out and back to the building.   
  
With one mighty hand wrapped round Frodo's arm, Strasser dug his hand into his pockets, cursing to  
find only a few coins left. "Damn, do I need a drink," he muttered, rubbing his brown lips at the sudden  
thirst for brandy.   
  
He paused in his tracks, and turned from the doorway to the alleyway, debating whether to bring the  
hobbit with him; feeling too tired to climb the three floors to the attic of the inn again, he pulled the  
tweenager along through the alley that led to the street.   
  
Frodo was stunned as his wild-haired kidnappers headed towards the faint sounds of the town beyond.  
Could it be, was this man witless enough to take him outside before the people of Bree? His heart  
began to race joyously as he saw light through the tunnel, and muddled noises sharpen into distinct  
sounds of horses grunting, feet sploshing, and voices, real voices, talking so near him!   
  
He could already feel the comforting arms round him, the looks of astonishment and horror at Strasser  
clutching him, as the man continued to push him forwards. While reveling in the hope of escape, it  
occurred to him vaguely that this was his first view of the world outside the Shire. With that final  
thought, Strasser dragged him through the inlet, and he feasted his eyes upon the scene before him; and  
cringed.   
  
"Ye don't think none of makin a fool o' yourself," Strasser threatened. "It's not like anyone here's  
gonna care what a worthless imp's moanin for. They'll most likely knock ye out themselves fer  
bothering 'em."   
  
As Frodo stared at the ugly world before him, he knew the man was probably right.   
  
Oil lamps hung like pale balls of fire in an otherwise black and depressing world. Instead of the hills and  
little hobbit holes with round doors that Frodo was familiar with, the town was constructed of shabby  
buildings that stood three stories high above the ground. Their jagged roofs and broken window  
shutters gave them the appearance of ruined towers, obscured by the same wear of wind, rain and  
grime as his attic prison. There were no trees anywhere - trees were smart enough to hesitate growing  
from the murky slush of the street; even the smallest flower had no place to sprout within the clustered  
maze of the buildings. Frodo searched frantically for a glimpse of green, a shade of blue or yellow  
maybe, but any such color had faded in the gloom of everything gray and dismal that resided here.   
  
Men trudged through the street, carting horses beside them and laughing hoarsely over mugs of beer,  
paying no attention to the little hobbit and his abuser who dragged him along. Although it was no longer  
raining, a damp chill hung in the air, and most of the men were shrouded in heavy cloaks that masked  
their features. From what Frodo could see of heads that poked out suspiciously from their hoods, the  
men had greasy and unkempt hair round pale and bearded faces, and many carried swords and arrows  
to their sides. While it was polite in the Shire to bid everyone hello as they passed, the passing men  
spoke nothing to each other if they were not with someone, and instead shot each other looks of  
suspicion or threat.   
  
Frodo gaped as he observed the hideous inhabitants of Bree, and their frightening resemblance to his  
kidnappers. Up to this point, he'd been sure Rob Strasser and Tony Chattin were outcasts or  
abnormalities in a race of men that was generally good, clean and honest. Yet as Strasser pulled him  
along through the passing foes, he felt like a freak himself, for the ruffian blended in perfectly to the  
scene while Frodo was the one who looked queer and displaced.   
  
'This can't be right, this can't be the world outside the Shire! Where are the beautiful forests, the  
running rivers, the elven palaces!' He had never seen a place so horrible to compare this to, except  
maybe the pig dung piles in the back of his Uncle Saradoc's farm! As he looked round, he felt his  
hopes wane to see no haven to run to, nor sympathizing ear that would respond to his cries.   
  
Strasser was growing furious from yanking the hobbit forward every few seconds. He turned to tell him  
to move faster, when he caught the look of disgust, plain as day, on the little hobbit's face as he took in  
his surroundings. The ruffian's beady eyes narrowed.   
  
"What 'er you staring at, hafling?" he asked, his voice low and threatening.   
  
"N-nothing," Frodo stammered, as he continued to stare with nervousness and revolution.   
  
This infuriated the man, and he seized the hobbit by the collar, bringing his face close to his.   
  
"What, ye don't like it here?" he hissed. "You think you're better n' this, little prince?"   
  
Frodo shook his head in protest, but the man's crooked teeth were gleaming in his face, and his breath  
reeked of rotten eggs and ale. "No," he managed to gasp.   
  
Strasser saw the pale, innocent little face flinch. "Oh no?" Strasser sneered. Grabbing him by the  
shoulders, he turned him around and slammed him down into a deep mud puddle on the ground.   
  
Frodo choked as he fell face first into the mud. Sour water splashed in his mouth, and he felt the cold,  
slushy mud sink in around him, completely soaking his breeches and soiling any remaining white to his  
shirt. Tears flooded his eyes, and he tried to blink them away, but they ran at their own will. He lay  
drowning in his own disgust, what a filthy, worthless rag he must look like now. Then he felt ashamed  
for the thought. Was he really a snob after all?   
  
Rough hands pulled him up. Through his tears, he could hear the scraggly-haired ruffian laughing at him,  
mocking him. "You've been reared in luxury, have ye? Tha's right, I know it, wimpy little haflin lives  
with his uncle in a golden palace an never got his clothes dirty. You should see what ye look like now."   
  
Frodo opened his mouth to protest that he'd been dirty plenty of times, but his sobs stifled him. His  
silence seemed to infuriate the man more, and he gripped Frodo painfully by the forearms, turning him  
to face the street and the cloaked strangers passing by.   
  
"Ye see them?" Strasser said, his voice and low and close to Frodo's ear. "Go run to 'em if ye don't  
like it here. Ye think they're better?" He grabbed Frodo's wrist and jerked it towards a few men with  
arrows in their hands. "That's old Meigs an Neville, they wuz poachers down south, looks like they've  
come back from hunting. They've used hobbits who strayed too far from the Shire for shooting  
practice, they have. And lookee there," he turned the little hobbit to see across the street. Frodo's heart  
stopped to see a few hobbits lasses standing outside one building, searching the crowd with assessing  
eyes. "Those hobbit lasses an boys even ain't just out enjoying the cold! They're hobbit whores, as  
they're known round here. They're a damn fine lay too, apparently!" He laughed roughly again.   
  
Frodo wanted to look away. He tried to look away. Everything in him screamed, 'Run! Get away from  
here! Die if you have to but close your eyes!' But for some reason, he couldn't; it was as though his  
eyes had frozen in an unseeing stare, and everything that passed before them burned into him. All the  
while his menacing kidnapper's voice rung in his ear, "This is the real world, ye little hobbits live like  
spoiled brats snug in yer holes. Why, ye don't even live in the world, do ye, ye live in holes in the  
ground! So don't give me looks as though yer anythin special, ye moanin brat!"   
  
Black spots appeared in front of his eyes as everything - the dark sky, the dripping mud on his clothes,  
the claws gripping him, and the familiar words of his relatives telling him what a lazy daydreamer he was  
and he had to wake up the world, suddenly transformed into the voice of Strasser - began to invade  
him.   
  
Frodo watched a dog amble between a small crowd of men, whimpering in a plea for food or comfort,  
only to receive a vicious kick, before it hobbled away. He watched as a human child, just his height,  
attempted to pickpocket the coat of a drunken man, and was struck down at being discovered.   
  
Was this the world he had wanted to explore? Was this the reality everyone had wanted him to wake  
up and see? No it wasn't, it couldn't be! There had to be more than just this! He just had to close his  
eyes and let his mind drift away, just as he had done in math class, just as he dreamed. And yet his eyes  
refused to close, as guilt of his own stupidity swarmed inside of him and attacked him with the same  
words as his relatives, the same words as the ruffian who clutched him. He had been so ungrateful - so  
foolish - so blind. He had almost asked for this, demanding adventure while disregarding the conflict,  
the pain, the ugliness in the world that he had always tried to ignore. Well he couldn't ignore it now; it  
surrounded him, dripped off of him, clutched him like a vice. Just as he had felt his parent's slipping  
away from him forever as they disappeared beneath the water, he felt a part of himself, which had been  
unhesitatingly eager and demanded to know and see everything there was in the world, suddenly  
weaken and cave in.  
  
"Hey Rob! What ya got there?" a voice suddenly called.   
  
Frodo gasped as new hands swiped him from Strasser's grasp. He looked up and found himself being  
held by a thin, bony man with grizzled hair and black eyes. He smiled down at the hobbit, and for a  
moment Frodo felt relief, was he being saved? Was this man, who had just torn him away from his  
kidnapper, here to help him?   
  
"Damnit, Fox, what'er you doin here now?" Strasser asked, eyeing the other man, sharply.   
  
Frodo's hope sunk just as quickly as it had surfaced. Fox was obviously an acquaintance of Strasser's,  
and therefore would not be releasing his grip upon his shoulder anytime soon.   
  
"Aw, just passin through fer the night," he replied, and peered down at the hobbit. "Now who's this?"  
he asked, giving Frodo's bruised cheek a playful pinch.   
  
"Hey, hold on!" several more voices called, and Frodo turned to observe a group of about three or four  
men advance towards them.   
  
They had wild, scraggy hair that hung round their ruddy faces, wore worn tunics and patched breeches,  
and were all shrouded in cloaks that blew behind him, revealing arrow patches on their backs and  
swords clasped to their sides. Frodo realized these must be his kidnapper's friends, and he shuddered  
at their sinister resemblance. They all seemed to stare at him with a peculiar curiosity, perhaps greed?   
'Do these men also know about me, and that my uncle's rich?' he wondered, fearfully.  
  
"What's this? What do ye have a haflin for?" One of them asked, resting a hand on his sword and  
eyeing the little hobbit with interest.   
  
"Aw, do we need to wonder what anyone round 'ere has a hobbit for?" Fox asked, slyly, running his  
pale, claw-like hand along the nape of the little hobbit's neck.   
  
Frodo shuddered as he suddenly felt the hand slide down his back, then attempt to pull away at his  
shirt. For a moment he was confused as to what the man could possibly be doing, and then the 'hobbit  
whores' came back to him. "It's been awhile since I've had a hafling to play with," Fox whispered in  
his ear. "Yer just the sweet little one to do it."   
  
"Let me go!" Frodo shrieked, struggling violently in the man's grasp. Humiliation burned in him, and he  
realized the sickening reason why the men continue to eye him, why this men had attempted to paw  
him. This couldn't be happening, they couldn't do this to him, he had to get free! He was prepared to  
let out another scream, when Fox anticipated him and clamped his filthy hand over his mouth.   
  
"What's wrong with em?" Fox asked, frowning. "Why's he so riled up?"  
  
"That ain't my reason fer havin em," Strasser admitted.   
  
"What, you never had it with a hafling before?" one of the other ruffians asked, scornfully.   
  
"No," Strasser retorted, and folded his arms in front of him, defensively. "I get plenty of fun with the  
ladies, it's only the ugliest an most desperate men who'd need a haflin."   
  
"What'er you talkin about, Rob? Haflin's are the best!" Fox exclaimed. He kept a firm arm wrapped  
around Frodo, and the hobbit's skin felt as though it were crawling from the man's touch. He began to  
tremble in terror.   
  
"What's the matter, little thing?" Fox asked, pensively. It was sickening to hear the first words of  
tenderness spoken to him for so long, but coming from a man who wanted - no, he couldn't think about  
that. Fear assailed him again, and his trembling worsened. "You're afraid?" Fox cooed. "Here, I'll  
make ye feel better," he said and turned to Strasser. "Hey let us have a turn with 'em, Rob. We'll bring  
'im back later, good as new, better n' fact! He'll be much improved!"   
  
"No," Strasser said angrily, as though the rub about him not having a hafling still irritated him.   
  
Yet as he grabbed Frodo back, he shot him a malicious glare, and Frodo's heart resumed its incessant  
pounding. He understood what the ruthless man was planning; while Tony Chattin seemed intent on  
using him to get Bilbo's ransom and nothing more, Strasser regarded him as something stupid, snotty  
and spoiled, and seemed determined to make him suffer for it in any way possible.   
  
"So what do ye have it for, then?" One of the ruffians asked.   
  
"Nothin much, just makin a little money off it. You wanna see 'em? Here, take a look!" Strasser  
coaxed, gripping the back of Frodo's collar before thrusting him forward for the men to prey upon.   
  
'Elbereth help me!' Frodo prayed as the dark eyes bored down on him. Then the hands were on him,  
tilting his chin up, grabbing his arms, stroking his cheek and touching him - 'Bilbo please pay for me  
please, don't leave me like this, help me!' Frodo groaned in shame as he tried to twist away from  
Strasser's grip, but knew he'd just fly into the arms of another. They had surrounded hin now on all  
sides, the four or five of them, towering over him as filthy monsters, enjoying the sight of the quailing  
creature beneath them. Frodo had never felt so small or helpless in his life as he did now, with the eyes  
of monsters upon him and their hands upon him. 'Oh somebody please help me, stop looking at me!  
Get away!'   
  
"It's such a tiny little thing. What, you givin it to Fang?" one of the ruffians asked, scornfully. "I hear  
he's runnin out of hobbit workers, what with the new gang that just traveled up from the south."   
  
Strasser bellowed at this, shaking Frodo as he continued to dangle him before the men. "No, I've got  
im for a different purpose, but that's an idea. What do you say, little imp, you wanna stay here and  
work as a whore after we're done with ye? And then you'll get to see these nice men more often!"   
  
"No!" Frodo's voice cracked and he fought for the control not to cry.   
  
  
One man with a fat, round face and a peeling red nose, noticed as Frodo wrapped his arms round  
himself in protection, also to hide his shaking limbs. "Wha's the matter with him, he looks like a cat on a  
branch the way he quails!"   
  
"Aw, he doesn't like it here," Strasser informed them, mockingly. "He thinks we're stinking buggers  
that live in these parts."   
  
The eyes went back to the little hobbit, and he quailed, expecting fury and heavy blows. Instead, the  
men exchanged humorous glances and grim laughs.  
  
"Is that so?" A man with pale blue eyes said, provokingly. His lips curled in a sly grin. "Well the little  
thing hasn't been here long enough to enjoy the comp'ny. C'mon, we're all heading to the inn, bring  
'em with ye and we'll show im' some good times."   
  
"No, no, let me go!" Frodo protested, thrashing and yanking himself to the ground in a desperate  
attempt to free himself. "Let me go, stop this, please!" His anguished cries sounded small and pitiful  
even to his own ears. It must have looked pathetic and amusing to passing onlookers, and Frodo could  
see himself as such, appearing as no more than another whore caught in the clutches of several men.  
This hateful and humiliating image swam in his mind, and weakened him as the arms latched onto him  
and pulled him into a nearby building.   
  
Heavy smoke hung in the air, and men staggered in and out of the haze, most of them drunk and cursing  
violently. A few were arm wrestling a table and two had removed all their possessions, from their  
swords to their socks, before them on the table as they challenged the other in a game of cards.   
  
The ruffians shoved their way through the crowd, finding a table in a back corner, and shouted for  
drinks to be brought. Frodo was shoved in between Fox and Strasser. As the men all seated  
themselves into chair and benches, they removed uncomfortable objects, such as knives and pipes from  
their pockets, and laid them out on the table for the little hobbit to see. They then began to talk  
over their recent business, and Frodo was temporarily forgotten as he remained wedged between  
the two large, stinking bodies.   
  
"So how's work in the south?" One of the ruffians asked as he lit his pipe with greasy fingers.   
  
"It's damn awful right now," another growled. "Some lord down n' Rohan sent guards to the village we  
wuz raidin. The land's all patrolled, n' the horses aren't any good to steal there."   
  
"We hear Byars is dead. That true?" the curly lipped one demanded.   
  
"It is. The idiot n' I wuz hiding under a bridge when a guard came lookin. We would've gotten off, but  
Byars tried to stab the man an ended up gettin' shot with an arrow himself. Straight through his head it  
went, in one ear n' out the other."   
  
"No kidding!" another exclaimed, and the entire group broke out in hoarse laughter. From there, they  
talked of robberies they'd committed in neighboring lands, counting the number of animals they'd  
poached on forbidden lands, boasted over how much blood they'd spilled in their time, and all manners  
of evil they'd participated in. They spoke with such pride and indifference, that Frodo might have  
imagined they were wagering the quality of the crops next year, while they smoked their pipes and  
gulped their beer just as any hobbit in a pub would do.  
  
A hand touched his leg, and Frodo struggled to curl into himself, not knowing which hand it had come  
from. Terror had now become an incessant beating in his heart. He feared what was going to happen  
after they took him out of here, knowing Strasser had no intention of protecting him from these foes, or  
even worse, exchanging him back to Bilbo harmed.   
  
Frodo curled into himself further, trying to take his mind from this, but no such plan would work now.  
Every time he tried to recall the fresh air of summer, smoke was blown deliberately in his face, every  
time he tried to think about home, and a welcoming hug, he shuddered to feel the haggard man, Fox,  
trying to grope him again.   
  
"Finally, the food's here!" one of the ruffians grumbled. Frodo looked up from where his eyes had been  
watching his clenched hands to see the carcass of a dead deer slam on the table.   
  
Frodo nearly bit his tongue to suppress the disgusted shriek. He hadn't seen a deer in so long, for the  
dear creatures enjoyed living in forests away from the activity of Hobbiton. This deer was so young,  
and had been shot with an arrow that remained lodged in its belly. Its stiff head had landed right at  
Frodo's face, its blank eyes staring at Frodo's, which were slowly dimming out with grief and sorrow.   
  
Immediately the men grabbed their knives and began hacking at the poor dead animal, grabbing  
handfuls of the still warm creature and gnawing it in starving relish. Frodo's stomach lurched as the  
nauseating stench of the raw meat hit him, and he backed up against the wall as far as he could, turning  
away from the creature's blank gaze.   
  
Strasser scowled at him. "Wha's the matter, not likin the meal?" he mocked, a heavy pound of flesh  
hanging from one side of his mouth.   
  
Frodo moaned, his face contorted in a near sneer of horror and disgust. He curled into himself, shaking.   
  
"You'd better have some, I ain't givin you nothin else tonight, it's that or nothing. Eat er else starve  
some more."   
  
"You're right Strasser, it is a pathetic wimp. Here, rat, taste it," The other ruffian next to him said, and  
grabbing a handful of the warm guts, clutched Frodo's chin and shoved the raw meat in his mouth.   
  
Frodo gagged at the taste of the slimy meat that had once been a beautiful animal, and he instantly spit it  
out on the table. The nausea was too much at this point, and he swayed for a moment before he  
vomited up the small contents in his belly as well.   
  
Groans and shouts erupted from the ruffians. "Ye pitiful brat, I should've known better to bring ye!"  
Strasser growled, backhanding the hobbit into the wall.   
  
Frodo wept uncontrollably, bringing his trembling hands up to his face, attempting to hide his wretched  
sobs and ward off further blows.   
  
"Aww," one voice whined, mockingly. "He's even more precious when he's sad."   
  
"He is," Fox agreed. "I swear, Rob, send this one ta Fang's, he'd just love to have a pretty thing like  
this workin for him."   
  
Frodo had begun to break down as Fox's cool fingers played with the curls in his hair, but then the  
hand traveled southwards again, and tried to fondle him down below. Frodo snapped, and before he  
knew it he'd slipped underneath the table with a speed he never knew he had. Hands reached down to  
grab him, but the weakness of his limbs and the terror that had made him supple vanished in the frenzy  
to escape. While the men leaped up and had to tear through the large and clumsy foes, Frodo was  
small enough to scuttle below the crowd with ease. He heard the growls from behind him as he dashed  
round the front entrance and out the door.   
  
He was free! Free! In the split-second realization of his own liberation, he burst into tears, and ran as  
fast as he could down the street to it didn't matter where. At this point, he could in the forests if he had  
to, to lie there for eternity would be so much better, just as long as he was away from what just  
escaped from, it didn't matter.   
  
He was free! No hands seized him, no ropes bound him, he was himself again and felt the open air  
around him, foul and dank as it was, at long last he could breathe it freely! Stumbling into the darkness  
of the street, he embraced the freedom with outstretched arms and sobbed in terror and relief.   
  
He heard the presence behind him just a second too late, and he felt the swift kick before he was  
knocked forwards into the mud again. He cried out at the sharp pain in his back where Strasser had  
kicked him, and he tried to get up, only to receive another furious blow to his side.   
  
"Stupid rat! Ye think ye can get away so easily?" Strasser seethed, grabbing Frodo off the ground and  
shook him with a force more powerful than Frodo had ever known. "Ye hear me? Ye filthy, snotty  
worm! Yer not goin anywhere, ye understand? Yer a little gold nugget fer Tony n' I and then I'll leave  
ye dead on the road 'er drown ye in the Brandywine if Tony won't do it."   
  
The little hobbit choked again in renewed despair. "Here," Strasser growled, tossing him to the curly  
lipped ruffian who had followed. "Hold him," he said. As Frodo hung once more in the firm grasp of the  
ruffian, Strasser backed up to give one final kick to Frodo's stomach, and the little hobbit sprawled into  
the puddle of mud and his own blood.   
  
  
Dull laughter rung in Frodo's ears as he fought to heave air into his searing lungs. The kicks Strasser  
had delivered were so forceful, so painful, that Frodo retched up a small amount of blood that mingled  
with the taste of vomit and carcass that still remained. They just stood over him a while, as Frodo  
gasped in renewed shock and despair, tears spilling and rising his eyes from the mud there. After what  
felt like an eternity of writhing in the mud and despair, he lifted his head to see passer-byes laughing at  
him, pointing at him. It was a dark moment when Frodo caught sight of a few hobbits standing among  
the mix of the men, and instead of helping him up chose to join in the laughter of their human rulers.   
  
Everyone was pointing at him with revulsion, laughing at his miserable, pathetic state, and he couldn't  
find the will to lift himself up, but instead sunk into the mud that pooled around him, casting his head  
down in despair.   
  
He was a brat after all, to not be able to survive this, when it was just mud, and mockery, and the truth.  
He was the whining nuisance that his relatives had said, he was the curious fool who searched for  
adventure and comfort in the wrong places, or mistook it for something that wasn't even there. What  
other reason could there be for this?   
  
He was so caught up in the torrent of his own misery, that he almost didn't feel himself being dragged  
up again. "Well, I s'pose yer getting life down good here. Now you're more filthy an disgustin than the  
rest of us!"   
  
A final peal of laughter broke from the ruffians before Strasser informed them he had to go, and carried  
the broken hobbit upstairs. As they entered through the back door again, Frodo turned away from the  
mirror. He could watch the dead deer, the hobbits laughing at him, the piercing stares, but he couldn't  
look at himself. He didn't want to know what the last hour or so now revealed.   
  
Strasser kicked the chair away once they reached the top floor, and dumped him onto a small cot  
instead. As he tied him up again, Frodo wondered if the ruffian had any idea of what he had just done  
to him, destroyed in him. As he followed Strasser's movements, as the man climbed back down the  
stairs and laughing low in his throat, he knew he did.   
  
  
TBC  
  
After this, should I ask for you all to read/review?.....well, I'd love to know how you liked this chapter.  
Please tell me I'm terribly cruel and there better be better happenings soon, somewhere, because that's  
what I was yelling to myself even as I wrote the thing.  
  
I hope that the separate versions does not cause any confusion or dispute, I did it solely to please you  
for being such wonderful, dedicated readers.   
  
Thanks so much for your constant support! You all make me remember the joy to writing . 


	12. The Shire's Still There

Title: Treasures  
Author: BellaMonte  
Disclaimer: I own not the characters, they are the property of one J.R.R. Tolkien  
Rating: PG-13   
Summary: Gossip ran through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins harbored a vast fortune in the depths of his  
home Ruffians attempt to seize that fortune by kidnapping his beloved nephew, Frodo, and holding him  
for ransom. But will all end in a fair exchange?  
Notes: Not much to say, except that things are going back to the good old PG-13 rating.   
Also, it has unfortunately come to the point where college is itching its way closer and closer, and I'll be  
leaving within a few days. I know not at this point how much college, work, etc. will detain me from the  
story, but I assure everybody that I am going to continue with it. Updates will be less frequent, but the  
story will still be running.   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Elvish: 'How can you write that?' - It's hard, I swear. Imagine a figure stooped over a laptop in a dimly  
lit, dungeon-like basement agonizing over the crap she's putting her most beloved character through.  
Needless to say, it took effort and time. Just remember, story isn't over yet!  
  
Shlee Verde: Ok, one hint for you and for everyone about the yet-to-be-seen hobbit traitor: It's not  
Sam. I actually had a reader on another site ask me, "Ooh I know! It's Samwise Gamgee! He's just  
too sweet and quiet through this whole thing to NOT be the one!" and I had to let them know that I'm  
not going to create this serious story for the sake of making it Sam, because that would be wrong.   
Samwise? Never! I won't spoil the story, but I promise it's not him. :)  
  
Niphrandl: Ohh, I'M the bad one here?!?! Heehee! :)   
  
ThE iNsAnE oNe: It was great chatting with you! Sorry I didn't get this up when I promised, things got  
hectic packing. I'll try and take care of my Frodo plush toy.  
  
shirebound: You've got the right idea with the healing process. Of course I'm not going to leave this  
story and the characters at a spot where all the tension that's been building from the very beginning  
goes unresolved. Hense, there is much more to come.   
  
Manc Admirer: On Frodo's irrational guilt and shame, you're absolutely right. Of course none of this  
was the poor thing's fault. When I wrote his character, I developed him into a very sensitive, self-  
sacrificing tweenager, and when I created chapter 10 he reacted to it as though some part of this had to  
be his fault. That was almost more bearable than to imagine he's as helpless and victimized as he is. At  
least that's how I tried to convey it. Of course there will be voices, much like yours, later on to tell him  
different than what he's feeling now.  
  
LilyBaggins: "Run Frodo Run!" (slumps over laughing) Damnit, why didn't I think of that, I should've  
had a little hobbit girl calling out to Frodo in that little southern girl accent, "Ruuun Forrrrrest - or, no I  
mean Frodo, run! Run away! Hurry!" And then Frodo's leg braces could've come off and he sprinted  
all the way home to tell Bilbo "I can run!." Jeez, that would've been good! I should've done that!   
As for the 'torture worthwhile for the sake of later comfort' - you've got the right idea.   
  
Claudia: Touching reviews like yours makes the idea of going back to German and essay writing hard  
to consider. But alas, I must earn my English degree. I promise this story's not going to stop until  
chapter entitled 'The End.' is posted.   
  
tiggivon: I'm so glad you liked chapter 10! Honestly, after posting it I was wringing my hands thinking  
you'd all hate me for putting Frodo through such a mess. It put me at ease that you understood what I  
was trying to convey; that yes, unfortunately, horrible places like this exist and Frodo, who's such an  
innocent and sweet-natured creature, can be exposed to it.   
  
Myfanwy: Aww, I'm sorry about the pre-school depressor! I'll try and post during the day instead of  
the early morning. This was one of those chapters that I spent all night working on and posted at five in  
the morning.   
As for the timing of each chapter, I altered the distance so Bree is only two days away from the Shire  
instead of four. I have a little calendar that I used to determine what was going on in the Shire, and at  
Bree, and technically Bilbo was receiving the letter around the same time chapter 10 was happening. I  
know, bouncing back and forth between storylines causes confusion. But at this point, Frodo and Bilbo  
are now at the same place. As for what day it is, if Frodo was kidnapped on a Sunday, then this is now  
Friday at the end of that week.   
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Frodo buried his sobs into the thin, dewy mattress. He couldn't stand listening to his own jerky sobs  
anymore. He didn't even know why he was crying. After everything.......there didn't seem to be a  
point.  
  
Cold drafts blew upon the floor, and Frodo shivered as the air tore through his wet, ragged clothing.  
The smallest shudder made his chest and sides ache from where he'd been kicked. He gasped when a  
particularly violent shake revealed a new pain in his left shoulder.   
  
Surely these were all reasons to cry. But it was something deeper that screamed. He didn't even know  
what it was. The best he could make of it was some part of himself was no longer there. It felt as though  
what ever it was had been ripped out.   
  
In the tragic loss of his parents, he remembered there had been a consuming grief that replaced their  
loss. Something had still been there, even if it hurt terribly. Now it just felt like something that had lived  
very near the love he had for his parents, something that used to race with excitement and leapt at  
curiosity's knocking, had hollowed, or gone out, or whatever stupid way to describe it. What replaced  
it felt like nothing, or some unoccupied hole.   
  
His ribs were bruised and swollen. Simply flexing his wrists or shivering too hard brought a swift stab of  
pain, reminding him always of what had happened. It hurt so badly. No matter how he turned, he  
couldn't rid the pain in his bones. And, as the terrible images and sly voices of that night continued to  
flash through his mind, he knew that those memories weren't going to go away either.  
  
"Stupid rat! Ye think ye can get away so easily?"   
  
"You're right Strasser. It is a pathetic wimp."   
  
"Now you're more filthy an disgustin than the rest of us!"   
  
Strasser's black, beady eyes still glared at him, even in the darkness of the attic. Frodo could still see  
the curly lipped man sneering at him. The mud still clung to him. The humiliation still lived within him.  
Frodo felt the hole inside of him get bigger as he realized those voices, those men, that world, was  
something he would never forget. Never.   
  
Frodo's Aunt Hilda had warned him not to wander into the woods. He had been so young and bold as  
a child, and saw no harm in telling her he wanted to see what was beyond the stream. Now, to his own  
humility, it turned out she'd been right after all. His curiosity had gotten the better of him; now he  
understood with the most painful resentment what it really meant to be foolish and wrong.   
  
'Aunt Hilda would love to see me now,' Frodo thought bitterly, thinking of his ruined state. 'And  
Bilbo..." A fresh ache wrung in his chest to be reminded of his beloved uncle, who he would never see  
again; or maybe that was a good thing. Perhaps it was better his uncle didn't know what had happened  
to him. Wouldn't it be the cheekiest story in all the Shire to hear Frodo Baggins had rushed off to see  
the world, and stumbled in the first steps? Wouldn't Bilbo Baggins be pleased to know his nephew,  
who had adored his stories and was determined to follow his footsteps one day, had not been able to  
handle the glimpse of the world, even for a single night, without cracking?  
  
  
'Oh Bilbo, why didn't you tell me about all of this?' Frodo coughed into the rough fabric. Did his uncle  
not know? No, that wasn't possible. His uncle had been so many places in the world. If he did know,  
then why had he not told him? Frodo wondered, and another fierce ache came upon him when he knew  
the answer. Of course his uncle would not have told him. He knew what it would have done to him.  
Uncle Bilbo would have wanted him to keep dreaming. Even if it was a lie.   
  
It was so hard thinking about his uncle, when it made him ache so badly. He missed his uncle so, so  
much. For a moment, Frodo was reminded of the first time he'd gone to Bag End. It was two weeks  
after his parents had drown. Bilbo had brought him there for solace, for he was still so sad and weary.  
The little hobbit had rested his head on his uncle's shoulder as he read to him from a large book on  
Elvish history. It had been so warm and comforting snuggling under the blanket, listening to the calm but  
riveting voice of his uncle. He knew Bilbo was doing this for this benefit. He also remember turning his  
gaze from the pages to the hill outside. Something in him wanted to go somewhere else, and maybe  
have an adventure like the one Bilbo spoke of. He wanted to see great rivers and new lands. He  
supposed it had been a desire to escape at first that drew his attention to land beyond, a chance to seek  
solace where he wasn't reminded of his loss.   
  
'I was so stupid.' Why had he done that? Why had he turned his head from Uncle Bilbo to look for  
something he didn't even know existed, when the love and comfort that was all he'd really wanted was  
right there with his arm around him?  
  
Frodo's sobs finally slowed when he was too tired to carry them. Lifting his wet, puffy face from the  
mattress, he rolled onto his back. He didn't feel like chastising himself anymore, on what he'd done  
wrong or what he'd never get a chance to redo. It just was. And what did it matter if he died  
complaining? He would never see his Aunt Hilda to know if she'd give him her presumptuous "I told  
you so," smile anyway. He would never see Bilbo again to tell him how sorry he was about the dish,  
how sorry he was for making himself so vulnerable, so sorry for everything.   
  
Fresh tears erupted before he could stop them, and ran two fresh tracks down each side of his face.  
He'd never hear Uncle Bilbo telling him that it was all right, and he should always keep going no matter  
hard it was. At this point, he didn't really want to.   
  
The dreaded pairs of footsteps came too soon. If only they'd just leave him alone. But they were  
coming again. As the trap door lifted, Frodo turned away and curled into himself, wincing at the pain it  
caused. He didn't know if his weak and bruised body could take anymore.   
  
"What happened?" Frodo heard Tony Chattin ask. As usual, there was no emotion in his tone, just a  
flat, indifferent reply.   
  
"The imp tried to run away. You'd think he'd learn better by now," Strasser defended.   
  
"You brought it outside?" They were standing directly over him now. Frodo didn't move.   
  
"Wha's it matter if I did? It didn't do any harm to us, an didn't bring it any good."   
  
Frodo felt something poke him to get his attention. He curled up tighter, avoiding the touch. When Tony  
saw he wasn't going to respond, he reached down and yanked him roughly onto his back. Frodo shut  
his eyes to the man as he assessed how filthy and bloody he was.   
  
"You're right," Tony replied, after observing the hobbit for a moment. "A few bruises. No real  
damage."   
  
A laugh escaped Frodo when he heard that. Both men looked at him, visibly alarmed by the sound.  
"Are you happy?" Tony asked, crouching down so he was eye level with the hobbit. "You should be,"  
he said, his voice dripping sarcasm. Frodo watched as Tony fished something from his pocket. "I'm  
glad you had such a pleasant time here, but it's time to go on a little trip."   
  
Frodo didn't get a chance to react before Tony's hand clamped over his face, and the sweet-scented  
rag suffocated him. 'Nono! Not again!' He squirmed helplessly under the firm hand pinning him to the  
ground. Frodo didn't even need to breathe this time; the scent simply drifted down his nostrils and  
throat, dragging him into unconsciousness. He was able to let out a final moan of despair that after  
everything, they were killing him after all. In his panicked, drugged state, he was sure he was going to  
die. 'Why aren't they just using a knife?' he wondered before everything went dark.   
  
~*~  
  
The air was so fresh and cool when Frodo began to emerge from the haze. He breathed it in deeply,  
savoring it as it ran into his lungs. It had been so musty and foul smelling before, surely he had to have  
died to breathe anything so fragrant again. Then why did his back ache so much? Confused blue eyes  
opened blearily, then widened into perfect saucers, as Frodo was greeted by a world he had long  
thought was lost to him forever.   
  
A pale blue sky peeked through the beautiful trees that stood over him. Frodo had always loved those  
trees, the ones with the twisted branches and emerald green leaves. The ends of the branches were so  
delicate, and swayed with the other branches in rhythm to the flow of the wistful wind.  
  
Frodo stared above him in astonishment. How could it be? When so many horrible things had  
happened, after so many ugly things he'd seen. How could the Shire magically appear before him, as  
though he'd merely awakened from a terrible dream?   
  
'It can't be,' his recently learned cynicism spoke. And yet the sky was still blue, and still there, as he  
closed his eyes and opened them again. Grass tickled beneath his bound hands, and the wind continued  
to brush over his face like a soft, soothing palm. If that wasn't enough to convince him, then the sight of  
his kidnappers arguing in hushed voices across a burning fire, their figures once again contrasting darkly  
against the beautiful scene, assured him beyond all doubts that he was really home.   
  
The two ruffians looked up to see the little hobbit had awoken after the day and a half long journey.  
Immediately they were up, Tony pulling his sword out in warning for Frodo not to move.  
  
"Don't scream or we'll put a rag in your mouth," he threatened.   
  
"I won't," Frodo promised, speaking softly to prove himself. Doubt flickered in the man's small green  
eyes, but he put his sword away and sat back down with his companion.   
  
Struggling into a sem-sitting position, Frodo craned his head to get a full view of where he was. They  
were in a forest clearing, and Frodo was sure it had to be one of the many open areas in the forests  
across from Buckland. His eyes blinked rapidly, still thrown at seeing his home again. As he turned to  
see Tony Chattin and Rob Strasser begin counting a few coins, the whole point to all this came back to  
him, and he realized what was happening. The kidnapping. The ransom. He was the ransom. And if we  
was correct on how this was supposed to work, Uncle Bilbo would give them money, in exchange for  
him to be returned to where he'd been taken. It was such a simple concept, yet Frodo had nearly  
forgotten about it when time had dragged on and he had lost hope more and more. But they were  
bringing him back now - and despite their threats they'd kill him, despite the extent of their evil - would  
they? Was there a chance that after all this, they'd let him go?   
  
"What's happening?" he asked. He knew they'd laugh at his stupidity; it made him bitter that he could  
anticipate their reactions now. But he had to know. But he had to know.   
  
"If all works out, then we get the loot we came for and you get to go home," Tony replied, sifting the  
burning logs before him with a stick.   
  
  
'Home?' His limbs gave way and he sank down on the ground as relief flooded him at hearing that  
strange, almost unfamiliar word come from the ruffian's throat.   
  
"Home?" Strasser thundered, startling Frodo out of his daze. "I thought we wuz slicin this rat's throat  
before we ever gave it back." He demanded an explanation from his companion.   
  
As Frodo stared at Tony pleadingly, there was a momentary look of hesitance revealed in his  
kidnapper's face, that proved, even with all the threats, the promises he was just a thing to be  
exchanged, and he would never see home again, the one who threatened had not been decided himself  
on whether to kill the captive hobbit, or not. He seemed assure of his answer now, though, and spoke  
as confidently as if it had been his intention all along.   
  
"Considering we want the treasure and then a swift chance to flee, we'll make our way away faster if he  
goes back," he replied. "Killing him isn't going to get us the money or passage out any faster. If nothing  
else, they'll be more inclined to look for us if he isn't returned alive. If we give him back unharmed, then  
they'll be so caught up in recovering him that they probably won't send anyone to find us. Besides, if he  
talks, we'll be so far away by that time that it won't even matter what he said. And who's going to  
track us? Our friends in Bree?" He turned to address Frodo, who had slumped once again on his side  
in disbelief that the ruffian would ever do anything to his advantage, even if it was for his own crafty  
purposes. "I really hope your uncle's smart, hafling, and does what we command. Although after what  
we hear that you're his little prince, I'd doubt he'll make this hard on us and not give us what we want."   
  
"You better hope he won't," Strasser growled. He clutched his sword at his hip and gave the hobbit a  
knowing look of what would happen anyway, if his companion was too sly to do it.   
  
Despite the threat, Frodo felt his heart beginning to palpitate once again at the first glimmer of real hope.  
It was strange, so wonderfully strange, that he was being given hope right after losing all, and having the  
chance for true freedom, after giving up the hope of that too. His uncle was right after all, he mused, as  
he weakened further to the ground. 'Never give up all hope my lad - it's in the darkest of times that you  
must let on, for they're the times when fate may take its greatest change.'   
  
As he heard his uncle's voice, he was reminded of what Tony had just said. It had never occurred to  
him while he had contemplated why he was kidnapped on how they came to know of him in the first  
place. But whatever it was, was it true Bilbo said he cared for him enough to sacrifice his wealth for  
him? Hope tickled him again, and Frodo was compelled to stifle it in the fear it would be crushed. But  
the hope tickled him anyway, and it came not from foolish dreams, but from the facts: He was home.  
They had not killed him. Tony Chattin, evidently the smart one, seemed confident Frodo's uncle would  
pay for him. The conclusion was, then, that his uncle loved him. More than the crystal dish he'd  
dropped. As Frodo thought this, warmth spread into him again and the weight of grief upon him began  
to lift.   
  
"Dammit, does this boot kill," Strasser growled, grabbing his foot and kneading it in frustration. "It ain't  
even my size, it were one we picked up from those dead thieves in Halifax. My other shoes had holes in  
em the size of walnuts."   
  
Tony gave the little hobbit a side look as he smoked on his pipe. "Shoes will be the least of our  
problems soon enough, Rob," he replied, grimly.   
  
The other ruffian grinned and rubbed his filthy hands together. "Ah yes, I wouldn't mind a new suit n'  
all, first thing. Well, maybe a good drink n' a decent meal after all the bad meat they had at Bree would  
do well too. What bout you?"   
  
"I wouldn't mind a new sword," he state, continuing to rustle the logs in the fire. "This sword's long  
dulled from too much use. I also want to make my way down south again. I'm tired of hiding out here in  
the northern country."   
  
"Everything from the new horses to enough treasure to wade in, soon enough," Strasser leered.  
"C'mon, let's get to it already. We're s'pose to be there by evening."   
  
Nodding, Tony got up and stamped out the fire. As he readied the horses, Strasser dragged Frodo up  
after cutting the bonds around his ankles.   
  
"Ready to tell yer uncle about all yer great times with us, hafling?" Strasser asked. He had stood Frodo  
near him by the horse as he prepared to get up himself. Instinctively, Frodo edged his way towards the  
other man; even if he was out of immediate danger and this was almost over, he didn't want the last  
hours to be spent near him. The night in Bree still lay heavy on his mind.   
  
Tony was in the middle of getting upon the other horse himself, when he frowned to see the little hobbit  
standing close to him. "Why did he do that?" he asked aloud.   
  
The other ruffian turned to see the distance Frodo had put between them. He stood nearer to Tony,  
thinking perhaps his companion his companion wasn't as much a thief and murderer as he was. Tony  
was just more intelligent in his schemes, but the hobbit's mistaking that for pity made Strasser laugh. "I   
guess he thinks you're softer."   
  
  
Tony snorted behind Frodo, and the little hobbit gasped as he felt a knife at his throat once again. "If it  
comes down to it," Tony's smooth voice said in his ear, "I'll be the one who kills you. Just hope it  
doesn't come to that." With that, he was gagged despite his promise to remain quiet, and was lifted  
onto the horse in front of Tony.   
  
They were both so deceiving, so monstrous. The threat cut Frodo's momentary reverie short and he  
slipped back into his former state of fear as the men kicked their horses forward and began the ride  
towards Hobbiton. They continued to boast over what riches they'd spend on gambling, women, and  
so forth, as they rode on. Frodo tried his best to block it out as the Shire grew larger. But he couldn't.  
Not anymore.   
  
They were riding through a narrow patch of forest and corn fields away from the activity of the roads  
and farms, perhaps on the same indirect route they'd taken when he was blindfolded. It felt like a  
lifetime had passed. So much had happened since then.   
  
It was when the forests became more familiar, and the distance between himself and uncle Bilbo  
became smaller, that the little hobbit was faced with the sad truth; there was no real coming back. Trees  
stood over him, just as before, and a deer darted behind a bush. But he still felt himself sinking into the  
mud in Bree, the laughter of the men still rung in his ears. Now that he was close to home, close to  
freedom, he could worry about something he'd been in too much danger to worry about before. How  
much he'd changed. Returning to life, he would never be able to look out his window without shying  
way from the lands beyond. He would never be able to sleep without that horrible place coming back  
to him behind his closed eyes. He'd never play outside without fearing there were dark eyes watching  
him, someone out to get him again.   
  
And what was Bilbo going to say? Frodo dipped his head in shame at the reminder of his uncle, and his  
obvious disappointment. How could he tell his uncle all of this? How could he listen to his uncle read  
him stories, when he knew what was really out there. He couldn't share the love of the world with his  
uncle anymore. He was so hurt now, so different. Frodo knew it just as clearly as he heard the  
thumping of his ever-pounding heart. He was changed.   
  
But the Shire wasn't. Even as he remembered this, Frodo looked up to see a bird chirping freely above  
his head. He smiled in acceptance. It was all right if things were different for him. The Shire was  
unchanged. The trees still stood, grass still sprouted, the corn stalks still grew, little birds chirped and  
squirrels scurried after each other through the branches. While he had been in Bree, while he had  
suffered, the Shire had not faded with him. For that, he felt comfort that beauty still stood, even if he'd  
forgotten it, even if it faded before his eyes. Overhill was within view now, far across the green fields  
and meadows of Bywater, and Frodo gazed out at his home and saw it in a more beautiful light than he  
ever had before.   
  
'I just want to go home.' That was all he wanted. Surprisingly, he felt all the better for it. A renewed  
appreciation for the Shire pulled his mind away from elsewhere, from the mud, the rough hands, the  
blows, and he felt only love for his home. If it all worked out....he never wanted to leave again. He just  
wanted to curl up in bed, drown himself in his covers, and sleep without dreams.  
  
His relatives might even be proud of his new turn-around, he thought, though the idea of pleasing his  
Aunt Hilda was a resentful notion.   
  
The evening set in as the men slowed their horses to a trot, and swivelled into a forest Frodo thought he  
recognized from his window, a patch of wood near Tookborough. It was night by the time they stopped  
their horses at the top of a slope, and got down behind a great thicket of bushes and branches.   
  
Dragging Frodo down from the horse, Tony gripped his arms tightly and looked beyond the bushes,  
listening for movement.   
  
"What time did you tell him to come?" Strasser asked, in a low voice.   
  
"He said he'd sneak in while you got the treasures from Baggins - isn't that this imp's uncle's name?"   
Frodo listened to the words spoken, and was alarmed that it was not his uncle they were referring to.  
Then who?  
  
"Stay quiet," Strasser suddenly growled, low but more grating than ever before, and he pushed Tony  
and the little hobbit closer to the ground as he observed someone approaching quietly in the shallow  
valley below.   
  
"You stay here, I'll get the gold," Strasser said, before moving slowly and cautiously down the slope,  
away from the thick brambles that shrouded Tony and the little hobbit from view.   
  
"You go after we get what we want," Tony spoke, but the little hobbit wasn't listening as his heart  
pounded more violently than ever. Frodo raised his head as high as he could, his blue eyes searching  
below the hill. As a tiny figure came into view through the thicket of bushes, that last shield of caution  
he'd held onto was flung away to see who it was. He wanted to cry, but restrained the tears in an effort  
to make out the hobbit more clearly. Though he didn't need to. He knew it was his Uncle Bilbo.   
  
  
TBC  
  
I need to extend a personal thanks to all my readers for two reasons:   
  
1.) Thank you for your patience with this chapter. Packing and about a hundred good-bye parties  
ensued. Unfortunately, the time has come when I must depart towards my own little Gray Havens (first-  
choice college) and therefore will be pretty busy, and updates will be less frequent. I'll really try to  
continue at a steady pace f at least one chapter every two weeks or so. That's my best estimate at this  
point. But the story WILL continue, I promise :)  
  
2.) Before I started this story, I was working on this novel - sized story of my own creation, and it was  
going to Hell. You would think after planning the story for three years, and sculpting all the characters  
and writing out the plot chapter by chapter would be make it easier, but the story just didn't come out  
right. Or if it was, I didn't know it, because it took a wrestler to pull my parent's arms to read it and get  
actual feedback. Needless to say, I was growing very frustrated about my chances as a writer. Then I  
said, "Hey what the heck I'll write that LoTR story I'd thought up." And lo and behold, all these  
wonderful people are reading my story, and reviewing, when they don't even have to, and sparking my  
hope again that my writing doesn't absolutely suck and I can carry emotion to the reader's ears (or  
eyes. :)   
  
I have to give you all a hug! (Huggies!) Know I'm entering college with a lot more confidence in my  
abilities, and much of it is because of you. You're all so wonderful! I'm flabbergasted you all love the  
story so much, and for that it remains a work-in-progress.   
  
~ BellaMonte (Lizzie) 


	13. The Exchange

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

E-Mail: 

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I own not the LoTR characters, however the nasty kidnappers are mine. All is the sole property of one J.R.R. Tolkien.

Summary: Gossip ran through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins harbored a vast fortune in the depths of his home. A few ruffians attempt to seize that fortune by kidnapping his beloved nephew, Frodo, and holding him for ransom. But will all end in a fair exchange? This chapter reveals that query.

Hello Everybody! Long time no see. First and foremost, I am sooooo sorry this took so long, the chapter, which by the way is a very loooong chapter, was composed during brief intervals between my classes and a few insomniac nights. The next chapter isn't so long, so I'll try and get it in a LOT less time than this one.

While writing this chapter I came to realize that it was waaay toooo looong..........so this is actually chapter 12, part I. The entire chapter will be up fairly soon, I swear. I only have two scenes to write for the second part.

Last comment: This chapter bounces back and forth from scenes (obviously two different storylines have now converged). I just wanted to mention that because it's basically the first time that's yet to happen, and it might seem a bit confusing. I was confoozed writing it. :)

Hope everyone enjoys!

Rose Cotton: "Surely you won't leave it at "Bilbo gives the money, gets Frodo back, end of story."

That is definitely NOT my intention, for many reasons. I think it's safe to say this story's far from over.

Ilmare: "Forget college! Why bother when you have Middle Earth to play with?"

Quite an intriguing suggestion. :)

Budgielover: You like my story?? Yay! Cuz I LOVE yours! Merry's Errand is my favorite so far, but I've loving them all. :)

Shlee Verde: "they are not gonna play fair are they? They are gonna make that evil hobbit pull something, right? I don't know but after there is a little glimmer of hope, there has to be something bad about to happen. Or maybe I'm just completely paranoid."

Maybe............maybe not.

It must have rained in the Shire as well as Bree. The grass was still wet, and a heavy scent of violets hung in the air. Frodo could see the distinct dew droplets upon each blade of grass from where his cheek was pressed to the ground. When Bilbo had appeared coming down the narrow slope, Tony had shoved him to the ground so he could observe what was happening himself.

Strasser's voice echoed up from the valley, but his voice was so grating and deliberately hushed that his words were unintelligible from where Frodo lay. A shudder ran down his spine at the cool dampness of the grass. He wished he knew what was happening. He needed to know what was happening...was this really it? Was this the moment that he'd been begging for, but had always held back from believing too hard? Was this for real, truly?

It was. Just as Bilbo had been real before he was pulled away. The moment had come - it was finally here. And the excitement of that realization was making him itch - what another surprise! Was he actually trembling with excitement? He, Frodo Baggins, who had nothing left but sorrow and ashes in his heart? How could he feel such a thing? Yet he did. He knew it as he continued to tremble, and no longer from terror, but anticipation.

The boot ground into him whenever he moved in warning to cease struggling, but for some crazy reason he struggled anyway. The pain was worth the chance he might turn enough to see into the valley and catch a glimpse of his uncle.

And maybe, after everything was said and done...if the walls of Bag End surrounded him by morning, if Bilbo would carry him back in one of his great big hugs....perhaps all this would feel as it was worth something in the end. Maybe, after everything was said and done....if he were in Bag End by morning, and he was settled beneath those warm sheets he'd almost forgotten....perhaps this would all feel as though it was worth getting Bilbo back again.

Silence hung in the valley suddenly. Breaking himself from his endless mind rambling, Frodo strained his ears to pick up the slightest noise. For a moment he lay frozen, praying he had not missed something.

Then came a voice, stern and familiar, as it rose from the valley: "Where is he?"

A warm and dizzy feeling swept over Frodo like a comfort blanket. Some sort of noise, a mixture of a painful groan and a muffled sigh, expelled from him before it hit him in another wave that Uncle Bilbo was down there looking for him. Then what strength was left in him drained away, and his body went limp under Tony's foot.

The man felt this, and nudged him roughly in an attempt to rouse him. The voices below had grown quiet again, preventing them from hearing whatever was going on. But it didn't matter. Frodo closed his burning eyes and waited, feeling relief for the first time in so long. He didn't need to hear anymore.

A slight rustle from the bushes caught Tony's attention. Turning to face the noise behind him, he braced himself and sheathed his sword in preparation for trouble. Frodo heard the soft but distinctive shrill of the sword being removed, and craned his head up in the direction that Tony's gray eyes were directed. When he did, his own eyes grew large and heartbreakingly pained.

'What's happening?. . . .Oh no. . . .no. . . it can't be, please. . . no.'

"You're late," Tony said, returning his sword to its sheath as he greeted the approaching figure.

Frodo heard that, and the truth struck him with a fresh, devastating blow. The moment of relief vanished just as swiftly as it had arrived, and his body stiffened once more under the suffocating hold.

There was very little wind that night. While making the several-mile journey to Bywater, he had picked up on the ominous stillness of the forest around him. In the Shire, trees tended to sway at the slightest breath of wind, and when they did their leaves made a soft, caressing sound as they brushed passed each other. But the wind had vanished, leaving the night uncomfortably quiet and tense.

'It's strange,' Bilbo though, 'that everything's so still when hysteria's hanging in the air.'

As he said the word hysteria to himself, Bilbo was reminded of his nephew, Merry, and Sam, as they had been in the moments right after reading the ransom letter. He, himself, had pretty much fainted, and the only coherent thought that had passed through his mind was how odd it was observing Bag End from the floor. In all his years living at Bag End, even as a child, he had never seen the fireplace and couch from that distinct position. There had been that thought, and, as he was lifted off the ground by Hamfast and his son, Halfred, the terrifying remind that his beloved nephew had been kidnapped. The good, clever little soul that he had spent the last five months with everyday was gone. He had been taken away from him. And now his other nephew, Merry, had fallen to the floor beside him. He was weeping bitterly, with one hand cupping his face and the other steadying himself from collapsing completely. Sam had been crying too, his face buried in his Mother's dress, hands clutching her skirt. He was carefully keeping himself in a safe position, away from his father's notice, perhaps thinking his father would be ashamed of his weeping. Bilbo knew that could never happen. Hamfast loved his children too much. And besides, Hamfast was too busy carrying the big burden of Bag End into the kitchen to notice his son crying in fear for his friend.

In the next few moments, as Bilbo recovered, Merry and Sam had been led by Bell into Frodo's room, of all places, to calm down while she ushered neighbors away. Then she had joined in the following hours of planning and deciding what to do. The decision had been easy - the ransom was theirs. But then came the questions of how to go about the exchange. Bilbo was helped by Hamfast in working out the details on how to go about the trade. The goal was to not give in until Frodo was freed, and they also worked out how they should go about finding these ruffians after the exchange. For no matter what state his little nephew was returned, these maggots were not getting away without justice being served. Then there was the question of how to get the treasure to Bywater without attracting the attention of others. This was a particularly hard maneuver, for after Bilbo's collapse and Merry and Sam's hysteria, a fresh wave of rumors swept the land that news had been heard of Frodo in some way, many imagining he was dead.

Two days passed before the day came when the kidnappers expected him in Bywater. Though nothing particular had happened in those two days, the discomforting silence that had nagged Bilbo that first morning of his nephew's absence had eventually consumed Bag End completely. To avoid further gossip, Hamfast and Halfred had returned to their daily work. Merry had turned as silent and grave as himself. Eventually, Sam had come by and the two of them spent the time at the Gamgees, leaving Bilbo to pass the time alone in the solitude of his own home.

Under normal circumstances, he would have taken advantage of the free time by working in his study. The terrible fear that plagued him, as well as the restless anticipation could have easily been applied to several occasions in his book. But it had been impossible to think straight, let alone write. For it had been his own fault, worrying about such careful descriptions of his book and his illustrations more than he had about his nephew. Staring at the pages now brought no inspiration to work. In the end, he passed the time by sitting in the armchair of his den, just waiting. Waiting.

It had been a week now since Frodo had been gone....kidnapped. Elbereth, what had happened to his boy since the last he'd seen him? What had he gone through? In all of the fears that plagued him, the very thought of where Frodo was just then, and what he was doing, was the most terrifying and consuming. He didn't want to imagine the worst....but he couldn't be optimistic and blind and hope for the best. For strength's sake, he tried to remind himself that these men were out for only one thing, money; considering it was he that possessed it, they therefore wouldn't dare try and harm Frodo, because he was whom they planned to relinquish. At least that's what Bilbo tried to tell himself.

Then the blood on the letter came back to him again, and he was reminded that he was dealing with monsters. But he had to remember, lest he go mad, that he had what these disgraces of men wanted, and they would get it as well as justice...once he got back Frodo.

Two days later they had began loading the wagon. As a precaution, Bell had agreed to stay at Bag End and take care of Merry and Sam while Bilbo, Hamfast and Halfred went to make the exchange. Merry had especially pleaded to come along, begging that his cousin would want him to be there. But Bilbo had been adamant in his refusal. Frodo was already in the clutches of cold-blooded kidnappers. He couldn't risk putting another one of his dear nephews in danger.

As Bilbo assisted in bringing the sacks to the door for Hamfast to heft into the wagon, he had paused outside the doorway to Frodo's room. If any dwelling in Bag End had been eerily quiet in the past week, Frodo's was the one, for it had been empty the longest.

There was the wooden rocking chair in the far corner. On the first few occasions Frodo had come to stay with him for a few days, back when he still lived at Brandy Hall, the lad found it difficult to fall asleep with the new surroundings. It was then Bilbo had first brought the chair in to sit and read to Frodo to help lure him to sleep. By the time he had officially adopted Frodo, there was no need to come in and help him fall asleep at night. But he had kept it there anyway.

Then there were the books on his shelf. They were in slight disarray, some laying flat and opened instead of properly shelved, while others had collected on the little table beside Frodo's bed, evidence of their frequent use.

As Bilbo took in the bed before him, his eyes rested upon the new clothes he had laid there a week ago. It had been his intention to show them to Frodo as an early birthday present, and hopefully help to clear up some tension that had come between them in the past weeks. He had been a little late in initiating that conversation, however, as this night now proved.

Stepping into the room, Bilbo picked up the new cloak he had bought off a passing elf a few weeks ago. It was a soft, warm fabric, and it would fit his nephew's small frame just right. He tucked it under his arm. It was going to be a cold night and he wanted to make sure Frodo was warm when he brought him home.

Just before he left, Bilbo took the last step of pulling the covers back a little from the neatly made bed. In doing this, he made sure the bed would be ready and waiting for when he deposited his nephew there very soon.

Bilbo passed down into the valley where the letter had specified, at the appropriate time, with the bag clutched firmly in his hands. He actually had not been waiting that long, just a few moments. But each second seemed to pass by with the weight of several years.

A sudden snap broke the silence, and he visibly started. Was it them? No, as he looked behind him he saw a rabbit pattering away. Was the strange chill to the air their dark presence? No, it was just the windless cold.

He must have come early. As he glanced up at the moon again, he saw it was just now reaching its pinnacle, the time when they had instructed him to come. Anticipation must have gotten the better of him to the point he had been able to review the entirety of the past few days in his head. He was almost prepared to do it again, when an unusual sound of shuffling leaves sounded from the hill just to the side of him. Bilbo's heart began to pound as he looked up to the see the bushes continue to rustle deliberately and move back, as a definite figure tore through them.

He was coming down the slope. As he neared, Bilbo could see that it was just one person. From the amount of bushes being disturbed, he could tell it was a man; a big, burly man. As he staggered down the slope, Bilbo could hear him curse words he himself never dared, words picked up from the south that had direct translation with the goblin language. The man finally reached the valley floor, and after ripping his black cape from a final patch of thorns, he turned to stand before the hobbit with a wild sneer. With the cape behind him, Bilbo could now see the dark, tangled hair that hung all round his face, the sword hanging from his side and the black, menacing eyes. For a moment there was silence, as they both took in each other's presence, and Bilbo stood face to face with the man who had taken his nephew from him. The man who had held Frodo since. His stomach went empty.

"You better be Baggins," the man sneered in greeting.

"I am," Bilbo replied, adopting a tone that was practical, but firm. He held back from asking the man's name, as it was custom in the Shire upon ever occasion to do such. He hardly expected anything more than, "I'm the man who kidnapped your nephew so I could have your wealth."

"You'd better be Baggins," the man continued, gruffly. "I've seen enough o' yer troublesome kind fer a while, and don't need any more than I already have. Now hand over the gold," he finished, and stretched out a filthy paw.

Anger flared as Bilbo heard this, and he had to restrain himself from arguing the irony of who was the 'troublesome' party to all this. But it wasn't the time and that was not the purpose. "Where's my nephew?" he inquired instead, tonelessly.

"Dead in a hole somewhere soon enough if you don't hand it over," the man said. He smirked to see the hobbit's face blanch. "Just hand over that money, and we'll see about letting the rat loose."

With that, he reached down to grab the bag from who he assumed to be a stupid and clumsy hobbit. But Bilbo had been prepared for an attack, and quickly leapt back as the hand moved to seize him. They both heard the lovely jingle of jewels when the bag Bilbo held was jostled. His heart started to pound violently in his chest as a disturbing film of greed glazed like icing over the man's eyes. His own eyes searched the woods beyond him, anxiously. Where was Frodo?

"You're late," Tony replied, as the small figure came up to him, hesitantly. "We figured you'd left us to collect the fortune for ourselves."

"No-oo, I wouldn't do that," he voice replied, sounding nervous but trying in vain to hide it.

It was a hobbit. Tony still had him pinned him to the ground, so Frodo couldn't life his head to see who it was. But he saw the feet. They were big, hairy, and padded shortly upon the grass in that all too familiar motion. He knew it, because it was his own.

'No no no,' was all his mournful, weakening voice could manage as understanding seized him, and Tony and the hobbit exchanged words.

"You didn't go about the whole thing very quiet-like. The whole Shire knows he's missing and that Baggins is up to some mischief himself."

"Just be glad no one's pointed fingers at a sly creature like yourself," Tony countered, evenly. "It ain't my fault you belong to such a gossiping race. Besides, if this doesn't work out they'll be thinking Baggins did the lad away himself."

A moan escaped Frodo as he heard that, however his voice was soon muffled by another series of curses from down below.

"Dammit, what's happening," Tony muttered under his breath. Frustration was beginning to ebb him, having his view limited by keeping a firm hold on the hobbit. Finally, he gave in and grabbed Frodo from off the ground, clutching him as he watched.

With his back to Tony's chest, Frodo stood upright and stared face to face with the hobbit nearby. For a moment he hesitated from looking, being quite enlightened at this point on the devastation curiosity could cause. But curiosity won out anyway, and his eyes opened to see the face of the hobbit who had led these men to him.

Terror flashed in Frodo's impossibly blue eyes as they feasted upon the hobbit before him. But the fear dimmed almost instantly, replaced with a strange and unlikely cloud of confusion. For who was this hobbit? As he took in the lank, dull-colored curls, the simple brown vest and coat, and the large hands that he wrung before him, Frodo realized with confusion and near disappointment that he had know idea who this hobbit was. It was a complete stranger.

Then the anger flared. An anger that derived itself from the horrible plain he'd been through, a pain that continued to live in his heart, and now churned with a violent protest of "Why?" and "Why?" over and over again. It didn't matter who this hobbit was....he'd done this to him. For a few gold coins.

Before he knew it, Frodo had launched himself at the hobbit. While he was restrained by Tony's powerful hand, he continued to thrash maddeningly, twisting and jerking at his bonds and kicking back at the man's legs, anything to gain the hobbit's attention. He wanted the hobbit to look at him and stutter his explanation for all of this. Some explanation, if there was any more to be had.

But the hobbit refused to look at him. He simply stood patiently to the side, his eyes pondering the valley before him, the trees, anywhere but Frodo's face. This made the little hobbit all the more enraged, and aware of his own helplessness to do anything about him. As his strength began to leave him again, Frodo knew that he wasn't able to fight this, and he soon resigned from the effort. Going limp like a doll in the kidnapper's hold, he cast his dead down so his chin rested against his chest. The voices below suddenly rose in anger again, and he perked his fine ears to listen, praying this would just all be over.

"You putrid little imp." Strasser growled. He towered perilously over the hobbit in an attempt to intimidate him, and Bilbo felt his free hand reaching for the bunt of Sting. "You think you've got the say in this matter, on what comes first, your money or yer wimpy nephew? That's just like you're kind o' course, but we got the one that squeals."

"Where is he?" Bilbo asked, taking another cautious step back.

"Enjoying himself," the man replied.

A cold, sick feeling crept into Bilbo's empty stomach. Though he knew he was swift, and was not entirely without protection, he began to truly feel the difference in size and strength that was to his enemy's advantage. He struggled to swallow the lump that was building in his throat, and continued. "All right," he said, and extended the sack. "Here. It's yours."

The hands were grasping and tearing at the sack before Bilbo had time to seize his hand back. The man could have very well taken the opportunity to striking him down instead, but his mind was suddenly engrossed with the prize before him. Kneeling down to the hobbit's size, the man held the sack and began to rip away the rope that bound its opening.

Bilbo backed away, disgusted at the sight. Immediately he went back to searching the forest around him, praying his generosity would mean he would set Frodo free. The wind rustled slightly now, and the moon must have been caught behind a cloud, for it had grown darker. The little bushes were all moving slightly from the wind, and it looked as though everything was overcome by slightly swaying shadows.

'Is Frodo watching?' Bilbo wondered, as his vision tried to pierce through the darkness. Could he see him standing there? Was he even nearby?

Reminded of the kidnapper before him, Bilbo looked down to see the man had finally worked away the bindings of the sack. He watched with disgust as the grimy hands plundered into the opening slowly, greedily, almost as if he were prepared to devour its contents. His eyes continued to gleam with a glossy film as his hand emerged with a handful of glittery necklaces. The look reminded Bilbo again of the nasty spiders he'd come across in his adventures; however, the evil that resided in these eyes was too terrible for Bilbo to ever write, and others imagine.

"This is it. This is what we came for," he said, looking up at the hobbit. His dull yellow teeth gleamed as he grinned. "You don't look much like a king," he added, "Though you had the treasure of one." His hands dove into the sack again, relishing in the cool feel of the jewels tangled together.

"Where's Frodo?" Bilbo demanded, mortified. "You got what you want. Now return what's mine."

The man ignored him, suddenly distracted by examining the weight and width of the sack he held. After a moment, he looked back up to the hobbit with renewed anger and suspicion.

"That's all?" he asked, sharply. "This isn't enough, this divided won't get me past the mountains! This warn't all he asked for, was it?"

"Who?" Bilbo asked. Then he tensed and stole a glance around again. Someone else was here. Although he didn't know whether he should be wary that it might be someone else to fight, or feel relieved that could very well be where Frodo was.

"There's supposed to be at least two more sacks of this size," Strasser demanded, flinging the sack aside and towering over Bilbo again. The hobbit readied himself for a second attack, and unleashed Sting, raising him to the man's snubbed nose.

The sight of a hobbit, even one as quick as this one proved to be, brandishing a sword, was hysterical to the man. He laughed roughly in the hobbit's face. Bilbo was surprised the blade didn't glow blue as he kept it firmly raised.

"Worm, you're the size of a holly bush n' ye think that's a threat?" the man questioned, mockingly. "Now where's the rest of that blasted gold?"

While saying this, Strasser made a quick grab for the collar of the hobbit's coat, intending to shake the treasure's whereabouts out of him. But Bilbo was ready, and ducked. For an instant the sleeve of his coat caught in the man's hands, and was grasped firmly there. Acting without time to consider consequence, Bilbo bent down to twist out of the grip, and thrust Sting into the arm that seized him.

Frodo had started to shake again. Tony had thrown him onto the soggy ground again, and from there he could feel the trouble going down below from the threat that lived in the man's eyes as he watched. Meanwhile, the hobbit traitor busied himself by wrapping scarf round himself for warmth. It was quite chilly that evening.

"Burr! It's cold," the hobbit complained, shuddering a little. "What's taking so long?"

"Dammet, what's happening?" Tony growled, more to himself than the other, as he watched. Motioning for the hobbit to look, the hobbit proceeded over to the bushes, stepping over Frodo's small form as he did so. The little hobbit fought back tears.

"Your friend's arguing with him," the hobbit said, fidgeting with his scarf as he watched. "Why, what's this?" he added, reluctantly. "Baggins hasn't handed over the sack. It looks like he's reluctant to pay!"

Loud, crashing noises started to go off in Frodo's head when he heard this. 'No. No. No.' Although tense before, his body now lay completely rigid, and he begged with all his heart that moment would stay still, suddenly terrified of what was going to happen next. For a fear that had laid embedded under fresher ones had now resurfaced with supreme terror. 'Nonono.'

"What do you mean he won't pay?" Tony demanded, grasping the hobbit by the collar. "You told us this was a sure-fire deal!"

"He will," the hobbit gasped, his pudgy arms flailing. "Everyone knows this hobbit's the only one cracked enough for Baggins to let in his door. He'd be so lonesome without him. Of course he'll pay!"

"He better, otherwise you'll go down with this one. It hasn't been a picnic dragging this hobbit round Middle Earth," Tony said, darkly. He was ready to release the hobbit, when an idea occurred to him, and he flung the hobbit down the slope instead. "Come to think of it, go down there and make your presence known to him. Let Baggins know who he's up against. That way you'll actually do your own share to this mess." The hobbit turned back with a look of horror at having to brave such a confrontation; but, as he realized the slim chance he'd have to claim any of the treasure if he didn't, he turned back around and edged his way down the slope.

Frodo's head swum as he tried to reason why his uncle needed that much persuasion to pay. As his shaking worsened, random memories began to swarm back to him in no consequential importance or order. For instance, on one occasion while he still lived at Brandy Hall, he'd gone to bed early one evening when Bilbo arrived unexpectedly. Bilbo could have spent the evening having supper with the grown ups, or telling stories to all his other little cousins, but instead came up to his room to gently wake him and let him know he was there. All his cousins had jealously taunted him later that he was Bilbo's favorite, but he couldn't help but feel happiness in the teasing. It was the first time he had really felt special....loved....since his parents had died those two years before.

'Please Uncle Bilbo, please,' Frodo prayed that the Uncle Bilbo who had made it clear to him on numerous occasions that he ventured to Brandy Hall primarily to see him was still the same uncle that was standing down below.

But the past few months living at Bag End....the tense silence when he interrupted his uncle....the butterfly....the broken dish.... "Didn't you say you had to go meet Merry before second breakfast?"......all started to come back to haunt him once again. Had the Uncle Bilbo who had given him such a surprise, coming to Bag End like that, inviting him to live with him, tucking him in before bed time...had that Bilbo now faded with the passage of time and being with him too long?

Dark thoughts and fears ran their maddening course through his conscience, and he struggled to find some other voice to bare the truth. 'No. Please no. This can't happen. Elbereth, if happy endings exist, let it be now. Please let it be now.'

Frodo was both desperate and terrified to hear the words below. Fortune or no, Strasser was shouting now, and the words began to ascend the valley to ring in Frodo's ears.

Bilbo felt the knife slice into the man's flesh. It was not a deep cut that he had inflicted, and certainly not a mortal one. But as the hand released him, he sprung back and steadied Sting. His hand shook at the thunderous growl that followed.

Strasser staggered back in an attempt to gain his feet. He clutched his left arm and glared down at the hobbit with eyes black from surprised and fury. "You stupid imp," he spat, "just like your bastard nephew."

Heat ran through Bilbo's limbs, driving him to attack and stab the man in a more convenient place of pain. But he simply persisted again, softly, for the man to let Frodo go. Not only did he have to keep himself in control, for Frodo's sake an his own, but he feared too much noise could attract attention from passers nearby. So he spoke evenly as he demanded Frodo's return.

Frodo's heart pounded with the force of a hammer on wood. 'Oh Elbereth, if only my heart would stop pounding!' His head was banging in the same rhythm, so loud it seemed that it seemed to drown out whatever noise lifted from the valley below. He looked up at Tony again, and saw with terror that the man was clenching his sword at his side, restraining himself from running down there himself. It was all Frodo needed to see to know that something was wrong....terribly wrong.

Elbereth, what was taking so long? Why wouldn't Bilbo talk loud enough so he could hear him?.....Why wasn't Bilbo giving them the money so he could go free?

All of a sudden, Tony had whipped a short knife from his boot and looked down at Frodo with dark, malicious eyes. It was in that moment Frodo saw the traces of a murderer in those oily depths, and knew the certainty of what would happen if Bilbo didn't pay.

"If this doesn't work out," Tony seethed, clenching the knife in a white fist. He didn't finish his sentence. He didn't have to.

They were still caught in the terrible feud of exchange. The man continued to clench his arm where Stiny had nicked him, hopefully not bent on attacking him again. But Bilbo was growing more and more restless as the moments dragged on, and the man had not released Frodo. He knew another attack would come, if not from this man than the one he'd referred to before. As another figure began to descend from the hill, Bilbo's heart quickened even more. He knew he could not possibly fight two men at once, even with this one wounded. But as he observed him closer once he emerged from the leaves, Bilbo's eyes turned to stone at the size of the deliberately approaching figure.

"What the Hell are you doing here?" Strasser demanded, turning around quickly to see who it was. "Get back up there. You're a useless presence."

"What's the meaning of this?" Bilbo questioned, tonelessly. His eyes never left the hobbit, who now wore a scarf wrapped round his face to disguise his features, and now stood beside Frodo's kidnapper.

"Greetings to you, ol' Bilbo Baggins!" the hobbit declared, folding his arms in front of him in confidence. "Just taking a share of some o' yer lavish wealth that you're not generous enough to pass round."

Bilbo could tell he was using a fake, gutteral tone to disguise his own voice. A hatred, unlike anything he had ever needed to feel before consumed him, knowing the difference he felt between himself and others was genuine one both sides. To also think that this was a hobbit he knew.....

"Oh, don't try n' justify yerself, rat," Strasser said, mockingly. Grabbing the hobbit by the back of the collar, he shoved him before Bilbo in the same manner he'd done to Frodo in Bree. "Ever wondered recently how we came by that little nephew o' yours so easily?" Strasser leered to Bilbo. "Well, here's the source to blame all yer misfortunes and trouble. See it now, you haven't got friends anywhere in these parts anymore than you do out there. And don't think if you don't cooperate, that he won't do it again, or others haven't thought about it either. Plus if paying's a grievance to you, know there's plenty of men out there ready to pay a fortune for your nephew, for more ways than one."

A dark haze gathered before Bilbo's eyes as he heard this, and it took all the strength he had not to visibly sway as nausea threatened to overtake him. 'Oh Frodo, my boy, how could I have let this happen to you, how am I ever going to make up for this....'

"Now give the money up," the hobbit challenged, in a pathetic attempt to sound gruff.

"Aww, stuff it and get back up there," Strasser said, giving the hobbit a vicious kick to the ground. The hobbit turned, while rubbing his rear, and he and Bilbo exchanged a single glance. In that second, all guilt, fear and determination that had driven Bilbo on in this last week morphed in a solid look of vengeance, and he made sure the hobbit saw it before he scuttled back up the hill. If it was the last thing he did on Middle Earth, that hobbit was going to be found, exposed, and sentenced for his betrayal.

"Give up the treasure now, or your little rat's getting cut again," Strasser demanded.

"Where's Frodo?" Bilbo shot back, again, his voice growing more infuriated as the time dragged on.

"Not this again," the man growled, threateningly. "Don't try dealing with us....you'll be the one who'll whimper and regret it."

"Where is he?" Bilbo persisted, returning to a practical approach. "If I give you the entire ransom, I don't believe you'll give him up."

"Who'er you to call the terms?" Strasser sneered. He meant to make another attack on the hobbit, this time with his own sword, but his hand now held his wounded arm. As he tried to move towards the hobbit again, Bilbo kept his sword firmly raised, and he realized the irritating hobbit was not going to lose his guard, small as he was.

That was it. Strasser lost his temper completely. "What, you wanna know if he's here?" he challenged.

"Yes."

"You REALLY wanna hear him?" Strasser thundered.

"Yes!" Bilbo pleaded.

"Hey Tony!" Strasser called, roughly, tilting his head back to the hill above them. "This hobbit's having trouble letting go of his fortune. Make the rat squeak to better loosen his greedy fingers.

There was a momentary silence, and Bilbo suddenly feared he'd done something terribly wrong. Then Frodo's loud, agonizing scream tore through the forest.

TBC

My apologizes for such a nasty cliffhanger. But I didn't want you guys to wait any longer, and I couldn't guarantee I'd have the whole thing finished before I departed from the computer for several days. :)

As always, please let me know what you think! Love the feedback!

Chapter 12 part II is coming VERY SOON.........less than a week. I already have the entire thing written out, just needs to be edited here and there. So expect an update/conclusion to chapter 12 very soon.


	14. The Exchange Part II

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

E-Mail: 

Summary: Gossip ran through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins harbored a vast fortune in the depths of his home. A few ruffians attempt to seize that fortune by kidnapping his beloved nephew and holding him for ransom. But will all end in a fair exchange?

Disclaimer: Not mine. A good thing, too.

Rating: PG-13

Greetings everyone! Here's the promised second part of chapter 12. I know I promised this weeks ago; sadly, finals got in the way. Also, this chapter was a lot harder to right than I expected. I give my apologizes.

Sorrowful Eagle: 'Do you have any other ideas/stories in the pipeline?': As a matter of fact I do, but because of college right now, and this story uncompleted, I'm not planning to start another one right now, but I will eventually, perhaps in a few months.

QTPie2488: 'OMG! What did they do to him?': Read on below :)

Tathar: 'And now what have they done to him?': Same as to QTPie2488. Right down below. :)

CaMinx: 'Happy Thanksgiving!': Okay, this shows how long its been since I got the last chapter up because I have to say to you 'Merry Christmas!'

Happy TTT's DAY EVERYONE!

"Give up the treasure!" Strasser's voice echoed up from the valley. Bilbo said something in reply, but his voice was so damn low that Frodo, even with his ears painfully strained, couldn't hear it! Anger started to fuel within the little hobbit, but not so much at his kidnappers suddenly, as his uncle. What was taking him so long to simply hand the treasure over! And why was his uncle bothering to keep a quiet, civil tone at a time like this, and to a brute before him no less!

"Where you to call the terms?" Frodo clearly heard Strasser shoot back.

"Your uncle's not as protective as you claimed," Tony hissed to the other hobbit. By this time, all of the cool composure that the man typically exhibited had melted, and his fury was revealed, just as malicious as his companion. His foot pinned the little hobbit below him, and his heel deliberately dug into Frodo's back.

'Why isn't Bilbo listening?' Frodo moaned as the heel pierced him in a particularly sensitive spot, and pain shot up his spine. 'What is he doing?'

Suddenly, Bilbo spoke loud enough so that Frodo could hear him say, "Yes."

"You really wanna hear 'im?"

"Yes," Bilbo cried again. Frodo's heart lifted to hear his uncle's voice. But what was going on?

"Hey Tony!" Strasser suddenly called up. "The hobbit's having trouble letting go of his fortune."

'What?!' Brazen-sounding bells started to go off in Frodo's head. "No!" he shrieked through the gag, now dreading to hear the rest of what was going on, fearing the worst had come. But Strasser wasn't finished. "Make the rat squeak to loosen his fingers."

Tony's long, bony hands seized Frodo in an instant, dragging him upright. The gag was yanked from his mouth, and he gasped in preparation to call out Bilbo's name. Then he felt a sharp, white-hot pain, as Tony's knife sliced the palm of his hand, and he couldn't do anything but scream.

Sting slipped from Bilbo's sweaty fingers as his nephew's terrified cry flew to his ears. The man turned around himself to hear it, giving the hobbit a moment to grope down and retrieve his weapon with trembling hands.

"Frodo!" Bilbo cried, hoarsely. "Frodo, I'm sorry!" His voice was tragically lost in the sounds of his nephew's own cries. Hot tears flooded Bilbo's eyes. 'Damn me, what have I done?'

"All right," he choked, and raised a hand, as if to ward off further blows. Slowly, his will was breaking down from the stern, commanding hobbit he had been when he had first walked before the man into an old, weakly creature, groping in the dark for his fallen weapon and begging this monster before him for some shred of mercy. He knew the man saw the change, and was laughing at him, but it didn't matter now. 'Elbereth, what have I done?' He could still hear Frodo's muffled cries, from wherever he was. "All right," he said again. "I'll give you whatever you want. The treasure's yours."

"Good. That's smart," the man said, and folded his burly arms in front of himself in satisfaction. He seemed completely unaffected by the cries. "Now ye know who's boss right 'ere."

Fury shook him to the point that Bilbo had to restrain himself from snapping that his giving up the money had nothing to do with HIM. But he couldn't argue. There wasn't time. Frodo didn't have the time.

"Hamfast!" he called, his voice sounding hoarse, beaten down at last. "Bring down the rest."

At hearing this command, Strasser started. "What, someone else is here?"

Bilbo turned to face the ruffian again, his face drawn from the exhaustive effort of attempting to reason with him. "Yes," he admitted, tiredly. "But it's only my loyal, trustworthy servant. He helped me load.....the ransom."

"It was instructed NOT to tell anyone about this!" the man thundered, slamming his foot on the ground with a savage fury.

Bilbo expelled a breath, not knowing how much longer he could take this. In a last effort to appease the man, he said, "What concern is it of yours if a few hobbits know of your clever schemes, when you will, after all, be gone at daybreak? What threat are people half your size to be so afraid of?"

"Just give it to me," Strasser retorted, secretly unable to shoot back an intelligent reply.

With his shoulders bent in defeat, Bilbo turned to call his servant again, only to see they that Hamfast and Halfred had already made their way down the hill. The two of them kept themselves at a distance, both for caution's sake, and also so not to interfere. Each of them hefted another sack in their arms, these bags twice the size of the one Bilbo had handed to Strasser, and now lay to the side of them, where he had flung it.

Just as Hamfast walked forward so he could transfer the sack into the man's hands, Bilbo was seized by another overwhelming fear that he if gave the treasure....all of the treasure....they wouldn't give his boy back, and he would never see Frodo again. It was cruel and stupid of him to try and bargain like this....but he felt it in his hear that they'd kill him. Now, more than ever, he knew how much they were capable of, and what his poor boy had most likely suffered through in the past days. Praying that he wasn't making the mistake of his life, Bilbo raised his arm to hold Hamfast back, just as he was about to pass him.

"Just....just where he is he?" he asked, one final time."I say again, you can have it. All of it. Just let him come to me, and it's yours. I give you my solemn word on that."

Strasser snorted at the visible tremble in the hobbit's voice. "Naah," he said, darkly. Heedless of the cut Bilbo had inflicted upon him, which was neither very deep nor very debilitating, he began to toss his sword back and forth, playfully in his hands. More than ever now he wanted this hobbit, who'd been more of a nuisance than he'd first imagined, to pay for more than the ransom "I don't think you'll enjoy the mess we've made of 'im. After all this trouble you've caused, trying to cheapen us with yer deals and giving me a sore stroke, I don't think I'll return him at all."

"NO!" Bilbo exploded, his voice hoarse and mad to hear the words he had dreaded all along.

Frodo choked on his own sobs as fiery pain ran through him. Tony had cut him right along his palm, and although it was not a deep cut, it burned like fire and now bled freely.

He wanted to scream, 'Bilbo! Bilbo, why are you doing this, why are you letting them do this to me?' but Tony's hand had clamped over his mouth after the initial shriek, and now all he could do was moan and gasp under the painful grip. Moments passed, and still Frodo couldn't concentrate on anything but the fiery pain lancing up and down his body, and the warm blood running down his hands.

Then came, "No!" from Bilbo, in a voice powerful and demanding enough to break through the sound of his own sobs. No. Bilbo had said no.....to what? Frodo began to feel cold. Even more than the word itself striking ultimate fear into him, was that fact that his uncle didn't sound scared. Instead, he sounded angry....furious.

'Don't you want your annoying little nephew back?' Frodo's imagination played unmercifully with him.

"NO!"

'Aren't you willing to give up your treasure to save the boy?'

"NO!"

Tears blinded Frodo so that the Shire looking like nothing more than a pool of green liquid, like a pot of pea soup Bilbo had made just a few weeks before.

"Bilbo," he moaned under the man's enormous, calloused hand. "What are you saying no to?"

But there was no answer, and the voices below were drowned out again through his own heaving sobs he no longer had control over. Blood was still running down his hands, the open cut was burning like fire, and as Tony continued to crush him with his suffocating hold, Frodo's eyes rolled back, and he felt himself starting to go mad with terror.

Everything was swarming around him now, every memory and ever person that somehow led to this terrible moment and surrounded him like a choking blanket. And it wasn't just the kidnapping.....but before then, back in Brandy Hall, and that unforgettable, terrible night, when his Aunt Angelica had told him there had been an accident, and that his parents were dead. There had been this feeling, this moment of complete and unbearable comprehension that he would never feel his Mother's loving arms around him again, and his father was never going to clap him on the shoulder and tell him he was proud of him again.

Pain....hatred.....cruelty.....Frodo had known that they all existed and surround him then, too. His aunts and uncles had teased him for being thin then, too. He'd been warned of the awful trolls and bad things that lurked outside the Shire then, too. But he'd had his parents and his home to protect him and shield him from ever believing such bad things could ever come or happen to him.

Then they died. And he was alone. He was an orphan, as they called it, overnight. He was never allowed to go back to his home again, but was left instead at Brandy Hall, amidst relatives he used to shy away from and bury his face into his Mother's dress. But she was gone. Father was gone. Now he was just Frodo. He was alone.

Why fate had chosen that path for him, he could never understand. His incomprehension hurt him so much, like those cold nights at Brandy Hall when he would shiver under the covers and know that his Mother wasn't going to come in and read to him before bed. Nestling against her would always warm him up, and he'd drift off beside her, the warmth of her tender hands stroking his curls, and the softness of her voice lulling him into a deep sleep. Now she was gone, and he had to fall asleep cold and alone under his sheets. He couldn't do anything else. He couldn't bring them back....he couldn't fight their deaths.....what could he do but hope, through a happy gathering, or a night when he cried himself to sleep, that things would get better? Perhaps, one day, he would feel that special love again, have it bestowed by another, and he would not be plagued by the fear that the best of everything in his life was over forever.

Thank goodness Uncle Bilbo, his favorite uncle since before he'd left the cradle, had always made time to come by and make life a little less unbearable. Bilbo didn't let him down the way some of his other relatives would take care of him for a little while, then left out of disinterest or to take care of their own children. Bilbo, on the other hand, made the effort to come by often. He would give him gifts (on special occasions, giving him an extra present, though they kept that a secret between them) and telling him adventures with rough journeys and terrible losses but happy endings. He never forgot to let Frodo known how much he loved him and how much he missed him when he was gone.

Perhaps he'd in turn dared to hold onto his Uncle too hard. It was foolish to imagine his uncle could ever see him more than he did, for Frodo knew he was detained often journeying outside the Shire, or having his attention directed on more important matters, such as his book. He shouldn't have ever thought that he could be more part of his uncle's life than he already was.

But then why had Bilbo adopted him? came the question once again, shortening his breath and making his pound louder and more violently than ever, as the dreaded question mounted on his mind: Did Bilbo regret that decision?

'Mother and Father drowned. They left me unwillingly.' a shrill voice sounded in his head. 'Uncle Bilbo wouldn't abandon me to this on purpose would he?'

The blood from his hand was soaking the back of his shirt, and he began to feel dizzy. Tony's hands continued to clutch him. They were big, ugly hands, and he recognized them as the hands that had dragged him into Hell and opened him to all the bad pain he'd tried so hard to hide from. All that had ever kept him going was the hope that Bilbo would be there to save him. If he hadn't had that, everything....all of it....would have devoured him long ago. that dark attic, the mud, those men looking at him....he wouldn't have lived through any of that. He would have collapsed and drowned in the mud.

Did Uncle Bilbo care?

"NO! No, no." Bilbo forced his voice to break down into the plea it should've been in the first place. "Please" he continued, "If you have any mercy in your black heart, let him go. He means everything to me."

In his last effort, Bilbo hoped that such a confession would bring some shred of pity to the man's heart. Instead, cruel amusement played over the man's curling lips. For a moment there was silence as Bilbo realized his mortal mistake in admitting that to the monster responsible for his nephew's suffering.

A faint noise jarred the hobbit and the ruffian from their pause, and both tensed as a strange sound caught their ears. It was a collection of voices, faint but growing closer, and within a few seconds the sounds blended into the distinctive tone and words of a cheerful working song.

"What's that?" the man growled.

Almost in answer to his question, the song grew louder. Bilbo dared to turn around for a moment to look behind him, and as he did his eyes widened in horror to see the moving light of torches just above them on the hill. It was too late to turn around again, or call out in warning before a merry group of tiny figures passed by the clearing above.

"Sir, they're most likely a group of farm hands from Bywater," Halfred said, nervously.

"What's going on?" Strasser demanded.

If the ruffian had not spoken, it was most likely that the hobbits above would have kept on moving, completely unaware of the happenings below. However, one of the hobbits heard the strange, angry voice through the merry laughter and songs around him, and halted in their step. The others paused in their own tracks, and turned to question their companion's reason for stopping, and caught sight of the scene below. Halfred had been right in his claim; the group of hobbits were farmers employed in Bywater, and were just now heading back after an extended day's work.

The sight of a man was alarming in itself to them. Men were typically known in the Shire to be rowdy, disruptive, and dangerous folk, besides which it was nearly unheard of for one to wandering this deeply in the lands of the Shire. For a moment the hobbits froze in fear, and backed away. But just as Bilbo himself, once the most predictable and respectable of hobbits, had grabbed on to the courage possessed beneath all hobbits, these that stood now saw the scene before them, and a similar change overcame their fear. They saw a wild-looking man standing in a faint patch of moonlight, armed with a sword, and seemingly bent on attacking a poor hobbit who stood before him. And before their fear could override their anger once again, they together clutched their torches and field utensils in hand, and began to descend the hill.

'No, this can't happen,' Bilbo thought, frantically. Of all times he could have ever possibly acts his fellow hobbits to act out of the courage and nobility in their hearts, of all times they could have possibly come to his aid, now wasn't the time. Turning round again, he saw Strasser had also seen the approaching hobbits and then take a step back. Panic gripped Bilbo as he realized that if the man turned and fled, he would never see Frodo again.

"You did this, didn't you?" the ruffian seethed, raising his sword in accusation.

"No!" Bilbo protested. "I don't know what's happening but just.....take it! Take the treasure. Just give me back Frodo!"

But the hobbits were now swarming down the hill, and as the ruffian glanced up again at the approaching figures, he felt himself actually caught with fear. It wasn't that he wasn't capable of tearing down a few hobbits. Quite the contrary, he was quite willing to tear them down, and able, even with his maimed hand. Yet as they came closer, he was alarmed to see they were great in number, twenty at least, and all of them were surprisingly armed with either a torch or a sharp tool, all aimed directly at him. They were coming fast, and just as they were less than two dozen paces away, he realized the impossibility of fighting them all.

Bilbo jerked his head back, calling, "Stop!" to the hobbits. Turning his head around again, he was prepared to plea once more, only to be knocked to the ground before seeing the arm swinging at him too fast to avoid impact.

Strasser smote the hobbit down with the butt of his sword, then quickly rushed forward to grab up the sacks dropped by the hobbit servants. At this point he'd settle with that small amount the hobbit had offered up to him, initially. Yet as he stooped down to the claim the treasure, the first of the hobbits crashed into him, one of their pitchfork's stabbing him in the leg.

As the pain shot up his leg, Strasser let out an enraged howl, the monstrous sound effectively chilling the bones of every hobbit within range. But their wills never loosened. As he bent down to claim the sack again, another sharp utensil quickly wounded his hand, and he instinctively staggered back, empty-handed. Infuriated, he unleashed his sword, prepared to attack them all. But more were coming, and as one came at him, pitchfork and a blazing torch in hand, he realized with the most heated hatred that he couldn't possibly go against all of them, little and pathetic as they were. And more than that - it was too late! There was now distance, fire, metal, and twenty angry imps between him and the treasure.

Already, the hobbit he'd brought down was being aided up by his servants, and looked at him with horror and pleading in his eyes not to go. But that, above all else, convinced him that he was now beyond reach from the ransom, and there was nothing he could do but retreat. Wounded, and now staggering away more penniless than when he came, Strasser made his away up the opposite hill, his fury and vengeance ready to be expelled on one thing.

Bilbo sat up, dazed, and blinked as the world swam before his eyes. Blood was running down the side of his face from where the man had smote him on his temple.

"Frodo! Frodo!" he cried. His voice disappeared again, this time among the sounds of triumphant cries and the clashing of metal. As his vision focused slightly, he could see he was surrounded by the hobbit farmers, and that the man had gone. But he couldn't be gone....he couldn't let the man go!

"No! No!" he heaved, staggering up, only to fall back down again in uncontrollable weakness. For a moment the crowd parted, and he could see the man backing away, before his murderous eyes caught Bilbo's for a moment, then he turned and ran.

"Stop! Stop!" he cried, his voice weak.

Hamfast and Halfred were already helping him up, and as he looked up, he saw the man stagger on his way up the opposite hill. "No, no come back!" he cried, pushing his way helplessly through the crowd. His voice was lost in their questions and babbling as he cried, "Frodo! Frodo!" one last time. Then his vision swam again, and it was too late for him to do anything before all went dark.

Tony rose, as he heard the raise of voices growing louder, as though shouting in triumph. Then he could see the viciously thrashing of the bushes just below him. Within a moment, the bushes that disguised him from view from below were pulled apart, and Strasser ripped his way through them.

For a moment, hope surged in Frodo's palpitating heart. Had it happened? Was he finally coming to bring him back down to Uncle Bilbo?

"You putrid imp," Strasser hissed. Before the traitor hobbit could protest or make a move to run away, the ruffian brought his hand back and knocked him to the ground, where he would lay unconscious until the following morning.

"What happened?" Tony demanded, and his hands gripped Frodo with a force that would leave black bruises. "Where's the ransom?"

"Deal's off," Strasser said, spitting out slime and blood. "He wouldn't pay."

It didn't matter how many times he'd told himself his uncle didn't love him as much as he hoped. It didn't matter that he told himself all the time that it was folly to dare dream that good in the world would ever really come to him. Frodo would never be able to say he was prepared for this moment, or that declaration. For as he heard it, he felt the weight of some terrible force crash on his head, and then something was flowing, or fleeing from him, like a spirited mist, and with it fled all strength and hope he ever had.

'No..no....nonono.' The last shreds of his heart pleaded, even as they fled. But just as grief and protest had never brought his parents back, his dying protestations didn't stop the tears from flowing, didn't stop Strasser's roar, didn't stop bony, powerful hands from hauling him off the ground and dragging him away.

He could hear real voices inside his head and nothing else as he was ridden away to the returning darkness of the forest.

"Doesn't he ever get his nose out of a book?" Aunt Dora had questioned him once.

"Such a peeky, helpless looking lad," said a passing neighbor.

His uncle's last words, "Didn't you say you had to meet Merry for second breakfast?" echoed once more, this time followed by the voice that conveyed his real meaning: "Go away, Frodo."

TBC

I'm bad. I know it.

Please don't flame or kill me........story isn't over. Far from it. (gives tremulous smile :)

The next chapter is a heck of a lot shorter than this one, and Christmas break has arrived, so there will definitely be a lot less of a space between chapters as there was for this one. Thank you to all my darling readers for holding on so very long, the absence of writing was truly unintentional.

Reviews are always welcome, though I tend to step back from the fire and flames.......they sort of burn me.........bad joke there. Hence, I do angst and not humor.


	15. The Adoption

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

E-Mail: 

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine. A good thing, too.

Summary: Gossip ran through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins harbored a vast fortune in the depths of his home. A few ruffians attempt to seize that fortune by kidnapping his beloved nephew and holding him for ransom.

Greeting everyone! I hope everyone had a safe, wonderful Christmas. And look at this? I now have chapter 13 completed.

Just to briefly mention the background behind this chapter, it is primarily composed of one long flashback between Bilbo and Frodo in the late winter of 1390 (Frodo is 21, Bilbo 99), and it is set in Brandy Hall. After the terrible crap that happened in the last chapter, the Christmas good cheer has since gotten to me, and motivated me to write and stick this sweet scene in here.

In regards to the last chapter, I wanted to apologize to those who were shocked or offended by what happened. To be fair, I have to admit that the tragic outcome of the exchange had been my plan from the beginning. And this is an angst tale, and as a writer, I'm just not one for writing uncomplicated, formulaic storylines. I like to have twists, turns, and occasionally have a bad crash. But after saying this, I'll reassure everyone again, the story has a lot more to go on, it's far from over. That's a promise. I hope this clears up a few worries to the readers who I felt very bad for disappointing in the last chapter's ending.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter! I would have liked to have had it up for Christmas, but Christmas got in the way. Call it a few days-late present from that uncle with the cell phone who always fails to show up for special occasions. :)

Rose Cotton: "How could you?": (ducks head, fearfully, tried to make explanation up above :)

Wandering Took: "Make it a looooooong chapter.": Oh, gosh, I made it as long as I could. Hope it's long enough.

Niphrandl: "How can you be so cruel to Frodo?": Aww, Niphrandl, am I really the bad one here? Hehee! Btw, am still anxiously tapping foot for a new chapter of Hobbitnapped. I hope you're still planning to continue that story once Nindaiwe starts working again.

Lily Baggins: "(And maybe another injury)": Thanks for the idea, Lily! Keep your eyes open for just such potential plot turns in future chapters. :)

QTPie-2488: "Please, please don't kill Frodo": I could never. To quote Samwise Gamgee from the "Secret Diaries of Cassandra Claire" (best LoTR parody ever) "Mr. Frodo far too hot to die."

Tiggivon: "Merry Christmas and I hope you get what you want.": Aww, thank you Tiggivon, you're so sweet. And yes, I got what I wanted, enough money to go see TTT at least ten times, so I can pass my number of views from last year with FoTR. I hope you had a fabulous Christmas as well! And thank you always for the much appreciated reviews. :)

(Brandy Hall, in the late winter of 1390)

Frodo couldn't sleep. One of the servants had come in about half an hour ago to stack fresh firewood in the hearth, and now the logs were making soft, but annoying cracking noises as they burned. Frodo knew that if the fire hadn't been re-kindled, it would feel like winter in the room; still, the sound was making it hard for him to fall back asleep. He considered waking Merry, who probably wouldn't mind to stay up and talk, but decided not to disturb his sleeping cousin.

His sheets had grown tangled from restless tossing and turning, as he had tried to find a comfortable position. He finally gave up, and sat up with a grown. It was no use. Sleep wasn't going to come to him here, with the wood cracking and sizzling in the fire, and his feet getting twisted beneath the covers.

Grabbing his book that lay beside him, Frodo quietly slipped out the doorway to his room and began to creep down the hall towards the library. On nights such as this when he had trouble falling asleep, the library was the perfect place where he could go to find solitude, something that was rather hard to find in the chaos that was Brandy Hall during the day.

He just had to make sure he wouldn't fall asleep on the armless couch again. The last time he'd let himself drift off while still there, he had been most unpleasantly awakened the next morning by his Aunt Pimpernel pinching his ear and scolding him for thinking he had the pride to call the library his new bedroom. He'd given her his earnest promise never to come so late to the library again. Secretly, he still came once in a while, though he was a bit more wary on heading back to his room once his eyes started to close on their own.

As Frodo crept down the hallway, he could hear nothing except an occasional snore from a nearby bedroom. It was not terribly late, just past midnight, and yet the entirety of Brandy Hall seemed to be sleeping. On reaching the library, Frodo held his book in one arm while he turned the knob and opened the door...then froze to see a hobbit sitting with his back to him before the fire. Oh no. If it was his Uncle Saradoc, or anyone for that matter, he was in for it. He knew it.

The hobbit had looked up as the door had opened with an unmerciful creek, and Frodo wasn't quick enough to dart back into the darkness before the figure turned. Frodo braced himself, snapping his eyes shut and cringing as one caught in a mischievous act of plundering.

"Frodo, my boy!" a cheerful and very familiar voice exclaimed. Frodo's eyes popped back open, and his mouth dropped in surprise to see it was none other than Bilbo!

"Uncle!" he cried. He ran across the room and around the couch to launch himself into his uncle's awaiting arms.

Bilbo laughed as he returned the hug. "Well, I had not expected to see you so late, my lad. What are you doing up at this hour?"

"Oh," Frodo said, poking his head out from where it was pressed into Bilbo's vest. He smiled, sheepishly. "I'm actually not supposed to be here. In fact, I'll probably end up with a sore bottom if Aunt Pimpernel found out that I was here."

The open confession brought a wide grin to his uncle's face, and in response Bilbo tightened his hold protectively around Frodo. "Well, let's keep ourselves quiet then. I think Esmerelda would object to me having this tea in here so late as well. She'd I'll spill it on her newly made cushions. But I've been careful so far, and I was just going to stay here a minute or two."

"When did you get here?" Frodo asked, re-adjusting himself so that he nestled against Bilbo instead of laying sprawled over his lap. Even though he was well into his tweenage years, his uncle still had a habit of sitting him on his lap and bouncing him as though he were still a wee lad.

"Just an hour or so ago. I would have to come to see you if I had gotten here earlier. The foolish wagon driver forgot to replace a wheel that was splitting, and I ended up arriving much later than expected. I didn't want to wake you....and yet now I find you up and wide awake!" At saying this, Bilbo ruffled the boy's tangled brown curls, and gave him a knowing look.

Frodo giggled under his uncle's failing expression of sternness. "I couldn't sleep."

"Why?" Bilbo asked, his voice switching very carefully to sound more soft and concerned.

Frodo shrugged, his eyes wandering slightly from Bilbo's questioning gaze. "Nothing, really," he said, not wanting to burden his uncle with silly complaints. "I'm just not that tired."

"And why is that?" Bilbo's one arm rested around his shoulders, and his hand gently rubbed his arm. Frodo closed his eyes for a moment at the soothing gesture. He was so glad that his uncle was here, if only to have a shoulder to rest upon, or being able to hug him without fearing rebuke. He didn't even know yet why Bilbo had come so unexpectedly, but it didn't matter, he was just so glad that he was here. Now that he was, Frodo was reminded of how much he'd missed him. It had been a few months since he'd last come to visit. But coming back to the present, he looked up to see that his uncle was still patiently awaiting his answer.

He blushed slightly, knowing there was no use trying to simplify the truth. Unlike his other aunts and uncles, who instructed their youngsters to always answer politely and without much complaint, Bilbo grew irritated if Frodo ever tried to tell him anything but the full and honest truth.

"Well," he admitted, "It's just that Uncle Saradoc promised Merry and I that he would take us on a trail way up in the North Farthing at first thaw. He told us that from the view that high in the hills, it's possible on a clear day to see the entire Shire spread out below you."

Bilbo nodded. "It's true. I think I know which trail Saradoc speaks of. I take walks there myself, sometimes. Although he's right in waiting to show you two until the spring, for that's when the view is most beautiful, with the trees green and the grass freshly sprouted."

Frodo grinned to hear this. He should've known better than to think Bilbo wouldn't have walked that trail before, his uncle had traveled to so many places.

"Well, I couldn't stop thinking about it," he continued, "And it's kept me awake, because I'm really excited to go see it now. I almost wish spring would come an extra few months early, so I could see it tomorrow."

This brought a good chuckle to his uncle. "Ah, Frodo," he sighed, "I'm sure that I've warned your aunt and uncle in the past not to tell you stories right before bed, the way your imagination soars."

"Well, the news about the trail didn't stop Merry from nodding off, for he's fast asleep. I don't know, it was that and then they re-lit the fire in our room, and my covers kept getting twisted, and I just couldn't fall asleep. I came in here to read. Sometimes the solitude helps me to relax."

Bilbo continued to rub Frodo's arm reassuringly, but his brow furrowed as he heard this latest news. "So, you come here often at night?"

"Well, not often, just when I can't sleep. It's just sometimes. Ah, I don't know," Frodo said, stumbling slightly on an explanation, and just decided to say what came most natural. "I still have trouble falling asleep here. Brandy Hall still feels new, and strange sometimes."

The crease in Bilbo's brow deepened, and he tilted his head to peer down at his nephew. "But Frodo, you've been here for nine years now. After all this time, it still doesn't feel like home?"

Home. The word brought to Frodo's memory images of sunlight streaming through his Mother's kitchen nook, faded tablecloth on the table in their dining room, the view of the stream outside his window from when he was young. He had not seen that stream since....well, since his parents had died. He had been visiting at Brandy Hall when it had happened, and even after the accident, he wasn't allowed to go back home one last time. Others had gone to collect his belongings. His Aunt Esmerelda had done her best to find him a fine desk and book shelf for his new room, but even when his books and clothes were placed in the fine new furniture, it never felt quite right. He was lucky to always have a pretty view of the fields, but it could never compare to the stream that had a habit of overflowing into his Mother's riverbed.

As Bilbo had asked, the sad reminder came upon Frodo that no, Brandy Hall did not, and obviously would never feel like home. Looking up, the sadness that lived in his expression was not lost on his Uncle Bilbo, who could see the truth as clear as the dimmed light in Frodo's blue eyes conveyed. He didn't even need to say any words.

To his astonishment, Frodo saw that this news had his uncle smiling! Not a wide grin, but there was a definite uplift at the corners of his mouth, and his brown eyes were soft with what looked like relief about something, though Frodo didn't know what.

"Uncle? What is it?" Frodo asked, looking up at his uncle, curiously.

"I'll explain everything later, my boy. In the meantime," he added, reaching onto the table for his mug, "I want you to drink this tea and try and get some sleep." Bilbo placed the still steaming mug in his nephew's small hands, and watched as he blew on the rim of the liquid before taking a sip.

Switching his gaze back to the fire, Bilbo kept a gentle, yet secure hold around Frodo. As he heard the boy let out a long yawn, he breathed his own silent sigh of relief. He was now assured that in coming here for a particular purpose, he was doing the right thing.

It would only be a few weeks later when Bilbo and Saradoc would summon Frodo to Saradoc's study and tell him together of Bilbo's plans to adopt him. At first Frodo had seemed nervous to hear that the Master of Buckland and Bilbo wished to speak to him in private, and the boy gave Bilbo a fearful look as he entered, perhaps afraid his uncle had informed on him after all. But at the hearing the real news, all anxiety fled from him, and his eyes grew wide and brimming with shock. He twisted in his chair, at a loss of what to say.

Both Bilbo and Saradoc saw the definite joy in the boy's face, and both were pleased by the reaction. Although Saradoc would secretly miss the lad a great deal (even if Frodo hadn't known it, his uncle had grown quite attached to him over the years,) but he knew all along that Brandy Hall wasn't the type of atmosphere that Frodo was used to or meant for. He did have his reserves concerning Bilbo Baggins, and had been unsure at first as to whether it was right to expose Frodo to the problems of reputation and overall oddness that seemed to trave with Bilbo. These concerns made him question whether Bilbo would prove to be a suitable guardian. Yet Saradoc couldn't deny that Bilbo rarely failed to live up to his long-time affinity and devotion to the lad, and he was certainly not lacking in essentials when it came to providing for the boy. And Bilbo loved Frodo, and he would take good care of him, of that much Saradoc was certain. For that, Saradoc Brandybuck, Master of Buckland and unofficial guardian of Frodo Baggins since his parent's death, agreed on the morning after Bilbo had arrived to relinquish his guardianship over the boy, to him.

Saradoc Brandybuck watched as Bilbo stooped down before Frodo and explained that this would mean that legally, Frodo would belong to him, and it would also involve Frodo coming to live with Bilbo permanently at Bag End.

As Saradoc heard Bilbo ask, "Would you like that, my lad?" and then saw the boy leap from the chair to embrace his uncle, the last lingering doubt in his mind was vanquished, and he felt confident in his decision.

Bilbo's arms were gratefully around Frodo, holding him tightly. From behind the mop of dark curls, Bilbo extended a look of gratitude and appreciation with his friend.

Frodo continued to hug his uncle tightly, who similarly held him, not ready to let go. With his chin resting on Bilbo's shoulder, Frodo tried his best to hold back a sniffle, still unable to believe the good news. No, good was not enough to describe it. Wonderful, unimaginably wonderful would be a better phrase to suit the happiness that he was feeling.

Uncle Bilbo wanted to adopt him? It was too good to be true! In his wildest dreams, Frodo had never gone so far as to believe his uncle would do that. He had frequently wished his uncle would take him on a trip outside the shire, or perhaps invite him to Bag End for a full month, as opposed to his typical two week visits. But to adopt him? To make his visit...forever? Oh, it was too much! He loved his uncle so much. As he continued to latch onto him, he tried to let him know that through the strength of his hug. Even as Bilbo laughed a little and asked him to let go, lest he suffocated his dear old uncle, Frodo want to release his arms. Because for the first time in what felt like forever, he finally felt the love that he had harbored inside for someone, returned. And he didn't want to let it go this time, he didn't want to lose it, just as he'd lost it before.

How cruel irony was. He'd lost Bilbo anyway. Not because he'd let go, but because the arm that had previously held him had let him go, instead. For as Bilbo had said, he must have held too tightly. He'd suffocated his uncle. More than that, more than anything, he'd made his uncle resent that decisions he'd made in Saradoc's study that day to adopt him.

Frodo was reminded of all this while gasping in the bruising hold of the one that was taking him away. The memory hit him with a blow to the stomach, and now he couldn't breath, couldn't cry any longer, couldn't do anything but hear Bilbo's voice shouting, "No!" assumably to his return, over and over again. Those warm, strong but gentle arms of his uncle were gone forever, and now it was only claws, trembling with fury, that latched onto him, prepared to kill him, crush him to death. These were the last arms that would ever hold him again.

See? I can still do sweetness....kind of left it off at a less than sweet place, but still. Next chapter is in the works, where I'll actually get back to the present situation at hand.

Please R/R! I always love to hear what you all have to say, it makes the writing experience all the more motivating and enjoyable.


	16. No Real Return

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

E-Mail: 

Rating: PG-13 for cursing, violence and wee hobbit suffering

Disclaimer: I only own the nasty kidnappers

Summary: You know the story. Bad people kidnap Frodo and Bilbo feels guilty because he was not a better guardian. What happens next?

A/N: Hey Everybody! Who else is ready for the plot to start moving again? I'm on a series of a few very intense chapters, starting with this one, and following into new stuff, new characters, etc. And yet I'm still in college (last two weeks or so) and after that summer will begin, in which I'll return to my chapter-per-week which I had in the beginning ten chapters or so, if those who've been reading from the beginning remember. In the meantime please bare with me. As always, let me reassure, the entire story coughnovelcough is outlined from beginning to end and I intend to continue until then, hopefully finishing it during the summer.

Chloe Amethyst: Thanks for the awesome review, Chloe! I'm flattered that I brought someone from the depths of lurking. :)

Budgielover: Hey there, Budgielover! I'm glad that you liked the last chapter.......and though I have no right to say this considering the span between my chapters......how I beg of you to continue updating yours! I love them all, every story, every chapter! I know I don't review them all but know that I read them all and have to gasp at least once for each chapter, and there's always those breaths of relief/giggles when something cute happens right after angst. Ex. Merry thinking Pippin got shot when he really didn't, etc. Good times. And oh gosh this has turned into a review to your story. :)

Alisaundre: It's always a pleasure to read your reviews, Alisaundre. Thank you so much for the kind words!

Chaos: Hey there! And yeah, I'm sorry about the title, I just couldn't come up with anything better to name it. No panic attacks were intended. Thanks for the review! :)

Meghan: Thank you so much for that kind review, Meghan. Just as you complimented me on reaching people, know that your words really reached and touched me. When I first read it, it was there in the morning and I was in the middle of struggle with writing a theology paper and I wasn't getting anywhere with it. Your review, however, was a fresh breath of motivation to know that my words reached someone, and it pushed me to get back to the paper, believing it to perhaps be less than junk. Excuse the sentimentality, but I really appreciated your review. Thank you. :)

Shlee Verde: "Are you going to make him remember how cold he was?" Shlee Verde, you anticipated my opening part to this chapter! Great observation! I was actually going to have chapter 17 be that dream sequence (a significantly shorter version of that, but I just couldn't help adding details) and this chapter combined, so Frodo's feeling cold in Bag End went right into......this chapter....but I couldn't get this second part written as quickly, so I just split it up. Heehee. Also, on your question about the men from Bree being pervy hobbit fanciers, well we'll see. Although I've got the entire story outlined, beginning to end, that is one part I'm still debating. On one hand I think I've thrown enough bad sht at Frodo at this point.....on the other hand.....? I can't give a definite answer. So my reply after that rant is "we'll see." Thanks for the awesome review! And keep writing more LoTR fanfiction, I still remember and love your Merry/Pippin/bad orcs story, it was so touching.

A Elbereth: "I really feel for Frodo here, because that's often how I feel at my family.": I'm with you there, A Elbereth. That last chapter was actually a pretty realistic description of me begging my mom one night when I was a kid to make me something to eat because I couldn't sleep and she was just pissed off that I was still up and just left me down there to eat alone. So yeah, I know the feeling too. I feel for you. :)

Obelia Medusa: Your threat hath giveth me shivers, Obelia! :) (shudders and scurries back in caution). To relieve you of this fear, know that I am not intending to leave this story until it reads THE END. And while that's obviously still a while away, I am not intending to quit in the meantime. Know that I have the entire story outlined, from chapter 1 - chapter that reads 'the end' (don't even know what chapter that might actually be, I keep breaking chapters apart into segments. 'The Adoption,' 'No Real Return' and this last chapter 'Two Months After' were originally all one chapter, but I had to split it for time's sake.) Anyway, am getting off subject. But rest assured, sit back in seat and breath a sigh of relief. For #1, no I am NOT going to drop off the face of the internet if I can help it and #2, I am not a sadist. I swear. I know the story's been terribly depressing and along with the depressingly sluggish pace it has been made more so, but please have faith in me when I say that the story is still far from over. Thank you for the review! You know I'm lovin' your story! :)

Cambino: Greetings! And thank you for the awesome review, it was wonderful to hear there's someone out there I didn't know was reading the story and did convey their presence. Thanks for reading! :)

Claudia: "Bilbo has a lot to make up for if he ever gets Frodo back.": Amen to that, Claudia. While I'm thinking about it: any "Estel's Shire Friend/Bound" up ahead soon? :) (PLEASE!!!)

ThE iNsAnE oNe: "Where have I been for the past eternity?": That's what I was wondering! Welcome back! I've missed struggling with writing your name in the correct upper and lower cases! :)

TTTurtle: Thanks for the review, TTTurtle! And yeah, the whole point I added that flashback is to just show a particular instance when tension was growing with Bilbo and Frodo, where Bilbo's frustrated between writing and taking care of his precious nephew, and Frodo's feeling this dejection. I hoped it would add more clarity as to what issues were going on between them, and what needs to be resolved.

Bookworm2000: "When I saw the chapter title, I thought, "Man, this writer's either a sadist or insane! Who would leave poor Frodo in those evil people's clutches?": You're right, that would have definitely been sadistic or insanity in itself. So yeah, I tried to emphasize the first words to the chapter, 'not two months after the last chapter.' Sorry I scared you! :)

Joyce: Hey Joyce! Thanks for the lovely review. I really appreciate that you bare such considerable patience. Frankly, I'm not one to defend my own procrastination because I'm one of the most fuming reviewers, always demanding the author take leave of real life. It helps to know that some reviewers are more understanding, and that actually spurs me faster. :)

Chapter 17: Worthless Schemes

The first thing that came back to Frodo was the cold. It was not the dry, stale kind that would numb his fingers on those bitter autumn evenings in the shire, but rather a damp cold. The air was permeated with moisture that hung in the air like a wet rag. Every wisp of wind that seeped into the room felt like waves of icy water, searing over him with its wet, chilling claws. Frodo ached from the shivers that wracked his frame.

Further coming to, the aches grew more piercing and distinct in their locations. His stomach churned violently with hunger. Bruises, old and new, stabbed at him from various places. His right hand, the one that Tony had cut in his cruel attempt to make him scream, burned dully. His left arm that Strasser had sliced with his sword was blessedly numb. If there was pain to be felt there, he couldn't feel it.

Frodo sucked in the cold air, and found it difficult to draw in a full breath. His throat felt tight and slow to respond to his swallow, as though it were parched or there was no air to be had in the confines of the room around him. He knew where he was even before he opened his eyes.

The sight that greeted him was a despairing one. Stiff, splintery floorboards carpeted with layers of dust and gray, dismal walls with a slanted ceiling met his eyes when they opened to his attic prison. His throat constricted at the familiarity of the setting. It was just as he had left it, the room that for a few, precious hours he had believed he would never see again. Yet here he was, lying atop the same dewy cot he had previously lain on. After everything that had happened, he was still here in the same spot where he had begun and would most likely never leave again.

Frodo sniffed, expecting tears to come, but it was a dry sniff. He wished he had enough strength left in him to cry. It was as though all passages in his body to expel his misery had all been closed.

'That's strange....since when do I consider crying an act of strength?' he wondered, vaguely.

Weakly, Frodo tried to sit up. Fire ripped through his palm and he choked in agony as he made the mistake of putting weight on his right hand to steady himself. Lifting up his hand, he cringed to see the cut Tony had given him had sliced across his entire palm. A scab had formed, but the weight he had just put on it had stretched the knitted skin and re-opened the wound. Now it was red and glistening, and the damp air made it feel as though it were festered with biting insects.

Craning his head weakly, Frodo saw that his left arm was no better off either. It was not a deep cut that Strasser had given him, just grazing a few layers of skin. Yet it had bled freely for some time, staining the sleeve below completely brown. His arm now hung lifeless at his side, leaving him woozy and freshly mortified at how many new hurts he had received. Would it never end?

Dizziness assailed him, either from the wooziness or the fresh nausea of observing the cuts, and he collapsed onto his back. Moments passed as Frodo stared dazedly at the ceiling, trying not to think about what was going to happen now. He knew he would hear their footsteps soon, he knew that there would be more to this nightmare.

In an effort to block it out for the time being, Frodo tried to think about something else....something...anything else. He finally settled upon his parents, who were one memory that existed in a time that was not tainted by pain and grief. Yet as Frodo tried to picture them as they once were, both happy and loving and alive, he found that he couldn't. A thick haze settled over their faces when he tried to imagine them, and their voices were drowned out by others.

He wondered if they could see him. One of his more sympathetic aunts had told him after the funeral that even though they had died, they would still be with him. Even if he couldn't see them, they would be watching over him, making sure that he was all right. What if they were watching him now? Or, as a sudden thought came to him, he wondered if they were watching Bilbo, wondering what he was doing at this moment.

Hot anger flared inside of Frodo as he thought of his uncle. Though his parents might be checking up on him, he knew what his uncle was up to right now. Writing. Taking a walk by himself, perhaps, as he often did even if he'd gone on a walk with Frodo hours before.

Uncle Bilbo's harsh and vehement "No!" echoed in his mind again, and ironically rung clearer than any other voice he tried to fathom.

Perhaps in the end, Frodo mused, that was the worst pain that he could bare being here. Even after everything that had happened up until the exchange, he'd felt as though he could endure it if Bilbo would be there at the end to take him back. Instead, his uncle had abandoned him in favor of his precious treasure, or even more from the desire to get rid of him. More than anything, that was what made Frodo's heart bleed and his eyes dry. For even if his kidnappers had not kidnapped him, even if none of this had happened, Bilbo had not really loved him. This had been a testament to that. Even if this had not happened, he would have come to know this truth eventually. No matter what had happened, he would be alone.

Though his thoughts had been running circles around this truth for days, it was only in this moment as Frodo woke up and found himself in the barrel of his own despair that he truly came to understand it. This giving up did not bring a devastating release in his limbs, however, or a resignation from thinking.

Instead, anger flared inside of him. It was an anger that he had first registered as a mere irritation when Bilbo hadn't spoken loudly enough in the forest for him to hear what he was saying. At the time, he had been so overcome with fear that he hadn't been able to understand why he was feeling such irritation. But now that mild irritation had returned, and it grew into a mounting anger stronger than he'd ever felt before. It rose in him like heat, though it rid him of what energy remained. But he was so angry! So mad! He just wanted this to be over....to end!

Luck or no was on his side at that moment. Just as his heart screamed for something to happen, the distinct sounds of footsteps shuffled from the floor below, and grew louder with each rising steps. Fear erupted inside of Frodo again, though he didn't know why. He shouldn't be scared of them by now, after everything that had happened. Yet he was.

Quickly, he rolled over onto his side so that his back was to the door, feigning unconsciousness.

The footsteps continued to pound their way upwards, until the trap door swung open and he could hear both of the ruffians approach him. A boot dug into his side.

"Ye up?"

Not responding would result in a kick, Frodo was certain. Though it caused him great humility, he answered with a small "yes." The word came out more as a croak. As he gulped, he realized that it was becoming difficult to swallow.

Tony stood over him, his jaw set in determination. His eyes darted to Strasser. "Are you ready?"

The man snorted. "I still say we might'n as well jus go up to his door with a knife to this one's throat an' have 'im lead us to the treasure. Or just break into the hole," Strasser suggested gruffly, and Frodo recognized the bitterness as well as the weariness in his tone.

Peering up at both of them, he could see that it was now no longer just he who was suffering from all of this. They both looked tired and more run down, if that were possible. Dark circles were livid until Tony's eyes and stood in stark contrast to his otherwise lean, pasty face. Strasser's hair hung more wild and frizzy around his face than ever before. Grimness outlined both their features along with a surmount fury. Even they'd enough of this. Even they had not wanted it to happen this way.

Tony shook his head firmly at the suggestion of his companion. "No. We can't risk it. Those hobbits are quick and nimble little bastards, and he might be around if we tried to break in. Besides, I'd doubt that we could squeeze you through of those small doors."

Strasser huffed and folded his burly arms in front of himself in indignation while Tony dragged the little hobbit up by what remained of his tattered collar. He observed the hand that he had previously cut with cynical green eyes. "Can you write with this hand?" he question.

Reluctantly, Frodo flexed his fingers a bit, and hissed at how much pain even the slightest movement caused.

Tony sighed, angrily, and dropped his hand. "All right, then you're using the other."

His other arm?! Frodo stared, horrified. He couldn't even feel the other one, let alone write with it!

Neither seemed in the mood to hear this, however, as they dragged him to the floor. Setting a candle down, they placed a grimy piece of paper in front of him, as well as a quill. They gave no explanation as to what he was supposed to do, and they didn't need to. Casting his eyes down at the paper, Frodo realized with perplexed bewilderment that they were trying to ransom him again. But didn't they know anything? Had Bilbo's "NO!" been unclear to all but he? It obviously had, for they were stupid enough to try to give him back to his uncle again.

"Write some of that sappy emotional waste like before, "Strasser demanded, digging his cane into his back. "Go on, make him feel bad fer causin' us all this trouble."

Frodo considered this as he continued to stare down at the paper. He was reminded of the last time they had made him do this, when it had felt like the greatest blessing to be able to write to his uncle. All he had wanted was to beg for his uncle to help him, and please not leave him here when he was so scared. Yet now....what did he want to say now?

No sooner had he questioned himself then emotions of anger, pain and grief assailed him that went beyond articulation. He wanted to write that. He wanted to know why Bilbo had left him like this, why he hadn't pay for him. He didn't want to plea any longer. Instead, he wanted to know why. WHY! He wanted to know! He wanted to say "Sorry for being such an inconvenience to your studies, dear uncle" and then add that it was sarcasm, just in case Bilbo didn't recognize it as such.

It was then that a terrible, but altogether satisfying thought came to Frodo as he realized that nothing would please him more than to write that. While he had always told himself that he wanted nothing more than for his uncle to care for him, but he never had to worry about him, or tend to him, or love him, he realized now the foolishness of those wishes. It was selfish, and he knew it, but that's exactly what he wanted from his uncle. His parents had been robbed to him when he was so young, and he needed somebody. He couldn't grasp the idea that he would live his life and never have someone to hug him or love him the way his parents had ever again. He had given his unconditional love and hope to his uncle.....and he'd been turned aside.

Like a rush of hot tea down his parched throat, the pain he felt in his abandonment turned into the comfort of making Bilbo feel guilty and upset for what he'd done. While he had never put the blame of all this on to Bilbo until now, suddenly he couldn't see it any other way. He had been minding his own business when these monsters had grabbed him out of nowhere. It wasn't he they were really after, and it was not he that had initiated this whole thing. It had been Bilbo.

Maybe, Frodo reflected, as he turned his eyes up slightly to the ruffians, it wasn't even them who he should fear so much, but his uncle. For he never had any expectations from them. His uncle on the other hand was someone he had trusted, and had played with him in his love, promising him to be there after his parents died and then going off for months at a time, treating him with gifts and welcoming to his home, but then answering "NO!" at the chance of getting him back when he'd been taken from him. Who should he really be afraid of? These men, or an uncle who honestly didn't care for him enough to spare money for him.....Frodo always knew that he'd been cheap....what a liar! What a deceiver!

Overcome with everything, and shaking in terror at the revelation of his uncle, Frodo opened his eyes to know a truth darker than he could have ever surmised. He hated his uncle. He hated him with an intensity that surpassed these horrible men.

Frodo pitched his head down, helplessly. They could kill him now. He didn't care.

"No," he answered, through ragged breaths.

"What?" an angry voice demanded. A large hand clenched his soiled curls, turning his face sideways,. Frodo couldn't help but cringe at the foulness of Strasser's breath.

"We'll kill ye now," the ruffian warned, brandishing the all too familiar blade for him to see.

"Go ahead," a voice blurted from inside of him.

Strasser's bushy eyebrows raised, and he even released Frodo's curls. For a moment the man stared at him suspiciously, searching for deceit in the large and glimmering eyes, but found none. The mock glare dropped from the man's dark features for just a moment, and the little hobbit could see a momentary understanding of what all of this had done to him. Frodo felt sick at the thought, and buried his head in his good arm. He might have pitched forward because he hadn't eaten anything in so long, or perhaps because he had just been low enough to challenge the man and won. He didn't want their sympathy. They were all enemies. Strasser....Tony....his nasty Aunt Pimpernel.....Merry, who liked that he had hated it at Brandy Hall and only bitterly submitted to his moving to Bag End...they all were. He ad no one. He might as well just pitch down her right now. He wanted to fade.....

'.....Elbereth, what am I saying?' a small, feeble voice in him cried, a voice that had at times sung so boldly. Now he only heard it faintly telling him not to give in to this and to his own dark thoughts. He both squelched it for its stupidity and grasp it, wanting so much for it to be true. But everythign around him made him let it go.

In the end, he wrote the letter. While he had dared to refuse, Tony had threatened that they wouldn't kill him but instead would cut a finger off, one by one. If he still refused, that would mean Frodo would write the letter with his toes.

As it were, Frodo was forced to write the letter with his right hand that burned terribly, for his other arm was numb and he couldn't even move his fingers. He wondered his uncle would even recognize his handwriting, considering he was writing with as little movement as possible and the words were jerky from the pain.

Nothing was worse than what they made him write. They made him admit that he was still alive, and that the 'mean men' would not give him up until he had paid. In the meantime, they would continue to torture him, and if there was any shred of goodness within his heart (the men assumed he had some) then he would comply this time to their wishes.

They made him ask his uncle, "Why are you doing this to me? Don't you care about me?" Questions that Frodo did desire to know, though he was too furious now to have the humility to ask when he was sure he already knew the answer. He wanted to scream through the pages or add something bitter, like "Wasn't I good enough compared to your books?" He didn't even want to know now. Yet they had the knife at his throat the whole time. When he was finished, they gave him some scraps of bread and water and left.

He was alone again. Alone with his thoughts. Once that had been all right, but now they ate away at him. His anger that had risen and warmed his body while he wrote the letter was now leaving, giving opportunity for the cold to take over again. Yet as he lay on the cot, Frodo realized that his emotions were not causing his feeling of hot then cold. He could also feel himself breaking out in a sweat. The numbness in his left arm was also spreading to the rest of him, increasing his feeling of lightheadedness.

He was getting sick.

No sooner had this realization came upon him that he latched onto it hopefully, if it would mean that this might end sooner. For even if Bilbo actually did exchange his money for him this time, Frodo knew that this still wouldn't be over. He would have to face his deceptive, arrogant uncle. If he had any strength left within him, he'd have to be restrained from hurting him. He wanted him to hurt for what he'd done and not done, anything to get this hurt out of him.

Again, a voice tried to break through, faintly telling him to not give in to this bitterness and this self destructiveness. But it died quickly. All he could do was ponder sadly upon the night just a few weeks ago when he'd come into Bilbo's study, asking for soup. Bilbo had been visibly irritated and didn't even sit with him in the kitchen. Instead, he had gone back to his work, all the while fingering something in his pocket.

Just two days before he'd been kidnapped, Frodo had come into the room and felt the air stiffen with his presence. He'd just sat down to read....what had he been doing wrong?

The painful truth came to him again: Bilbo would have seen him away sooner or later...in a sense, all of this was meant to happen.

Pain assailed his wound on his hand again, overlapped by an increasing nausea. It soon replaced the pain, yet it was frightening nausea. It felt as though he were being swept about on a boat in a storm, tossing and turning, his body and mind rocking, all the while he remained still on the cot. After everything, he'd started to forget how weak he must now be not to fight off impending illness. He hadn't been able to swallow much of the bread that they'd given him.

Frodo wanted to cry now. Of all times in his life when he felt like he had an excuse to do so, it was now. There wasn't anyone here to laugh at him, and no one would ever find out about it and call him a crybaby like they did before. It was the one consolation he had to being alone. He tried, straining his burning eyes to shed tears, but he had none left.

"Ye know, we cud jus' make money off this imp nice an' quick if we just sold 'im to Fang," Strasser reminded Tony as he followed him down the stairs.

Tony kept his jaw set, fixedly. "From the amount of treasure that hobbit claimed Baggins had, I doubt it would turn out to be an equal deal in the end."

Strasser snorted. "Aw, yer not goin back to him, are ye?"

"Not a chance," Tony said. "That maggot missed his chance at making any profit off the hobbit, even if he was the one who started this by coming to us about it."

Emerging into the dreary afternoon streets of Bree, the two ruffians headed over to the stables. Placing a saddle upon the horse, Tony brushed his oily hair back and climbed atop.

"Then howe'r ye gonna get the letter to the hobbit's uncle?" Strasser demanded.

"Ride up to his door at night," Tony replied, fastening his cape. "I'll find a way," he retorted, seeing the grim doubt on his companion's face. "I'll be back tomorrow evening if I ride through the night. In the meantime, don't do anything stupid and end up killing him."

A fierce wind swept by, blowing Tony's black cape behind him. He was in the middle of gathering up the horse's reins when Randy, one of the cloaked men in Frodo's encounter of Bree, approached them.

"Hey Rob, ye still got that haflin' around?" he asked, glancing around warily.

"What's it to you?" Strasser asked, in a low voice. "And no, I ain't gonna sell 'im to Fang, so don't bother lookin' for 'im. At least not until we're done with 'im."

"Why do you ask?" Tony asked, tonelessly.

Turning around as though he were afraid of being followed, Randy leaned closer to Strasser and pointed across the street.

"Cuz I think there's hobbits look for 'im. A group of 'em arrived askin' all of us if we'd seen a little hobbit with dark curly hair and big blue eyes. Just like yer pretty haflin," he leered.

Strasser's black eyes glowered, and he grasped the other man's bony arm. "An what'd you tell 'im?" he growled.

"Nothin!" the man gasped.

"But did anyone else?" Tony asked, his eyes cold, his frame rigid.

"Naw, the others aren't even here. They all ended up in jail last night. I wanted to tell ye though cuz after them hobbits they came upon some rangers who'er helpin 'im search. I'd just warn ye to get rid o' the hobbit soon, there might be more punishment to havin' im than ye think."

Pulling at his arm, Randy broke free from Strasser's grip. His eyes were rimmed with fury, and as Randy looked up he saw Tony's face was covered with a sheen of sweat.

"It'll be done soon," Tony promised darkly, and the man moved away. When he was out of earshot, Tony shot a warning glare at his companion.

"No more outings," he said, anger breaking into his face. "Keep him up there, and keep him alive."

With that, he rode away.

TBC

Arg......this was a hellish chapter to write.........obviously a hellish chapter to read.........who else is getting tired of bitterness and failure and misery.....? I am!!

These last few chapters (between The Exchange Part II and the next few chapters) were originally supposed to be the beef of this story that I wrote the fastest. Instead, college intervenes and they turn into the mire of despair that won't end.

If anyone's surprised/confused as to why Frodo suddenly turns on his uncle in this chapter, I wanted to clarify if the chapter itself didn't convey it properly. Basically, up until this point Frodo's been scared, confused and all that sad stuff and he really has no idea about what happened down in the valley in The Exchange. He thinks he does though, and as his character tends to do (or how I've written him) he likes to jump to conclusions easily. Considering how insecure he's been before this, a lot of terror and misinformation has led him to believe that his uncle's never loved him, and refusing to pay for him is a final testimony to that. At this point he can't despair over himself anymore as much as he's angry, thinking his uncle's misled him all this time (which is soo not true) but you get the point. Basically, Frodo's really got some issues at this point that need to be resolved, but not believing he's ever going to get them resolved or that he's got a home to go to, he's just fallen into completely hating everything and everybody. So yeah. Explanation if one was need. I felt it necessary to say.

Next chapter is a guaranteed less than a month away because guess who's done college in two weeks? (Does little dance of joy) And there is nothing that I have missed more than anything this year than writing. So prepare for chapters per week again very soon. :)

I feel like being spoilerish:

Next chapter title: Suspicions and Accusations

Please read and review! Although it may not seem that your pleas for me to write faster does anything (forgive the two month gap) they really do! Please support the "Treasures Continuum" and let me know what you think of the story. I really love to know.


	17. Frodo's First Book

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I possess none of the characters, with the exception of the nasty kidnappers

Summary: Gossip ran through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins harbored a vast fortune in the depths of his home. A few ruffians attempt to seize that fortune by kidnapping his beloved nephew and holding him for ransom.

Greetings! OMG, yes it is, the long-demanded and long-overdue chapter 16. My apologizes for committing myself to so many different activities at once. However, I'm on spring break right now and I'm hoping to get chapter 17 written/posted within the week.

Thanks for everyone's awesome support/reviews!

Kari Kamiya: It's all in the name of plot. I actually began the story on its first try where there actually wasn't any tension between Frodo and Bilbo, but then a lot of the tension and suspense to the story just wasn't there. I'm trying to make this story based a lot on reflection too, and the problems that Frodo and Bilbo were having before he was kidnapped has allowed those problems to manifest into a lot more issues than the standard kidnap/rescue. I just wanted to make it a little more deep than that.

Elerrina Wood: "And, what is Bilbo planning next, I wonder?": Several things are up ahead for Bilbo, beyond this chapter. I hope everyone will be both pleased and intrigued when he begins to take action to finding Frodo.

Ubiquitous Pitt: (Lizzie bows down to her most insightful reviewer) Thank you again for such a wonderful review. My apologies that this chapter took so long, just as you're in the mists of illustrating a fanfic, I've had history papers to tackle.

Chaos: Danke, Chaos! (Tut mir leid, meinen Deutsch ist sehr schlecht, Ich kann spreche Englisch.) Thank you for the illustration, Chaos! That was so sweet of you! I loved it! Don't call yourself a bad artist, that was excellent. For my part, all I can make are little stick figures.

Shlee Verde: Thanks for the review, it's always appreciated from you! :) "I really want to see how Bilbo is dealing": In response to this question, here's the chapter to see what Bilbo's been up to as Frodo takes that lovely journey back to Bree.

Radia: On your so-tiny detail, you got me! My bad, I must've mistaken Merry's eyes at that point. Please forgive the error. However, I now know that Merry's eyes are blue, so perhaps I shall go back and change that earlier mistake sometime. :)

Joyce: Thanks sooo much for the awesome review! And "Can we expect any chapters with Merry and Sam in them?": I know that Merry's been in the back seat as of recently, and Sam has been a minor character for the most part, both of them have integral parts to play in the story, Merry especially. Although he will only be mentioned in this chapter, believe me when I say that neither of them have resigned from the story. :)

Jodancingtree: "OK seems out of place.": I know, I've had that pointed out to me before. As I said to Radia, my apologies for the error. On your question of Frodo's age, yes, he was about 21 when he went to live with Bilbo, and in human terms that would be about fourteen or fifteen. However, if you look at Elijah Wood in movies when he was that age, that would be 'The Good Son' and 'North' years, when he still looks very young, small, and as we know about Frodo, he was a very curious and innocent hobbit at a late age, he had to be if he were to be able to withstand the power of the One Ring. So I see Frodo as about the age he was when Elijah Wood was in The Good Son, which is pretty much at the same place Elijah-Wood Frodo would have looked, had he actually been a 20 year old hobbit. :)

Bag End had been quiet for some days now. Being a rather large and opulent hole, and located on one of the highest points in the Shire, the Hill, it had always been a center of interest to those who passed through Hobbiton. After the news had spread across the Shire like wildfire that Bilbo Baggins's nephew had been kidnapped by ruffians who demanded his elusive wealth, this curious attention at Bag End became even more so.

"The poor hobbit," Angela Hardbottle said, sadly, as she sat looking up at the door to Bag End from her seat in the inn.

"Oh, stuff that," muttered another hobbit, sourly. "Why pour your pity over him when everyone knows how cracked he is! Why, I hear that he refused to pay for that boy's return, and insisted on cuddling up with that treasures instead! What do you think of that?"

"I didn't hear nothin' like that," Angela Hardbottle said, furtively. "I hear it's because he's too heartbroken o'er the lad that he's not partcipiatin' in the search."

"What search?" the other asked, failing to disguise the suspiciousness in his voice, though it was unnoticed due to the attention their conversation was drawing from other hobbits at the inn.

"Oh, I hear there's a search goin' on for him by relatives of the Baggins's boy from Buckland. He was half a Brandybuck, you know," piped in a hobbit from Tookland. "They don't reckon he's alive, but some of his Brandybuck aunts want him to have a proper burial....so they're lookin' for the body."

"A few others are headin' to Bree, I hear," claimed another hobbit from across the room, "For the boy was kidnapped by men, you know, and they think they might catch 'em there."

Gasps were followed by an uncomfortable moment of silence, as those who were listening digested the weight of what they were saying.

"Who would've thought something like this would happen here," Angela said, edgily. "It's more ridiculous sounding, like something that would happen in a fairy tale or one of Bilbo's own silly stories from far away. But not here....not in the Shire."

The sour one snorted again. "Ah yes, trouble always seems to follow Baggins, it has ever since his return all those years ago. I'll bet he's enjoying all the attention, he is. If he were so concerned for the boy, then why's he been up in his hole for the past few days, and not helping in the search? Why, I wouldn't be surprised if he'd disappear again with those elves, since he doesn't have that boy to look after anymore."

As the hobbit spoke, all eyes eventually wandered to the Hill once again. It was true. Since the night of the failed exchange of treasure and hobbit lad, no one had come or gone from Bag End. Some speculated that it was guilt which confined Master Baggins in his hole, being unable to face the world for his failure, while others claimed that he was simply going about his typical schedule of shutting the world out. These were the ones who had nodded in agreement when the hobbit suggested that Baggins had refused to pay for his nephew.

"I hear he's too grieved to leave his home," Angela spoke up again in mild defense of Bilbo. "I'd seen him with the boy before, an' there's no mistake, that boy loved him despite his peculiar ways. The loss o' that boy probably right killed him too."

"Oh, it's all gossip," scoffed Sara Bolger. "You all talk, not knowin' what's what from what. The only one who knows for sure what happened an what didn't is Baggins himself, and Hamfast Gamgee, though I hear he's real grieved too, thinkin' that he failed his master in not getting the boy back. I hear that from Halfred Gamgee himself, so I know what I'm talkin about."

The conversation continued on for a brief period, as the hobbits debated on what exactly happened on that terrible night. It had been the hobbits who had interrupted the exchange that had been responsible for the truth getting out, however all of the real answers as to what had happened beforehand were locked up behind the closed door on the Hill.

After the hobbits finished up their lunches and left the Inn, they headed down the road, passing the gate of Bag End on their way. If they were to have gone up the path, they would have noticed that it was lined with weeds. The typically immaculate garden was also unkempt, with weeds sprouting between the beautiful flowers and the plants drooping from thirst. Although it was a sad sight indeed, Samwise Gamgee had not been called to attend to it.

Inside, a fine layer of dust had settled upon the floor and furniture. A crack had also appeared in the ceiling just above the front door. During the four long days of searching, Mrs. Gamgee had noticed this crack, yet had been too preoccupied to attend to it. Since then, dirt that had slipped through the crack and had collected into a small mound on the floor, but the master of Bag End made no attempt to sweep it.

On this late afternoon he sat before the fireplace in his den, just as he done in the days before. The fire made soft spitting noises as it burned the remaining logs. All else was quiet. Bilbo continued to watch the flames, unmoving and visibly altered from the Bilbo Baggins that Merry had seen in that chair just days before. He was not wearing his coat and his vest hung over his chest, unbuttoned. His hair was a little wild and sprouted a fresh spray of gray in his otherwise chestnut brown curls. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot and stared dully into the flames as they licked away at the wood.

He would have to get one of the Gamgee sons to bring more logs eventually. Yet that would mean that he would have to face Mrs. Gamgee again. Just as before, she would give him that look of pity and remorse, and she would plead with him not to let the loss of his nephew destroy him, not to let the guilt that had been tearing up apart devour him whole. He'd rather let the logs burn to ashes; he'd rather endure the cold.

"F-Frodo n-never knew that I was sorry, F-father! He-he'll n-never know that I w-waited f-for him!" the memory of Merry's voice, choked with sobs, echoed through his mind.

Bilbo had been remembering a lot of things lately. Strangely, many of these memories had only been vague impressions at the time; they came back to him now clearer than when they had actually happened. Perhaps it was because he did not have time before to think about them, because there was so much else going on. Now there was nothing left to do but think back on them. His nephew, Merry's, shattered face as he had rushed to the door and seen the Gamgees supporting a dazed Bilbo and no Frodo, was one of particular clarity. And if Bilbo ever tried to block out that memory, there was the resentment and fury in Saradoc Brandybuck's face to replace it.

The day after, Merry's father had arrived at Bag End to collect his son. By then, the news of Frodo's kidnapping and his uncle's failure to get him back had spread over the entire Shire. Bilbo doubted not that Saradoc was taking his son because he feared for his safety, for Merry was Bilbo's nephew as well. As Saradoc led a sobbing Merry away, he shot Bilbo a look of betrayal and resentment within his cold blue eyes. Before this, Saradoc had trusted Bilbo. Trusted him enough to allow Bilbo to adopt Frodo, who was also his own nephew, and keep him happy and safe. Now, grieving for that lost nephew and suffering the guilt of his own terrible judgement, he could not bring himself to utter sympathy towards Bilbo, who stood silent and numb before him.

'A just decision,' Bilbo mused.

He must really be going mad now, he thought, as his eyes wandered to the small cushioned chair near his. He still couldn't believe that the door wasn't going to open, then slam close, and be followed by the soft sounds of feet scampering to his side. Even as he sat, his ears waited to hear the door open, and a voice calling from the corridor, "I'm back, Uncle!" Yet no such sounds came, and he remembered that it didn't matter how long he sat here waiting. Those sounds, once distracting and even irritable at times, were gone forever. He was alone.

A violent ache suddenly erupted in his chest. He had started to suffer from this ache on that night, when he'd had to be helped home after being knocked senseless by the wild-haired ruffian. As Hamfast and Halfred had led him to his own room, they had passed by Frodo's open door. Bilbo had looked inside and seen that the covers were still pulled back, as he had placed them. Yet he did not have his little boy to place there. It had been in that moment that he'd realized that Frodo was gone.

The ache surged again, nearly cutting off his breath this time, and Bilbo dipped his face into a shaking hand. His sorrow sweeping into an even deeper realm of lamentation, he began to wonder what it was that had ever possessed him to ever return to Hobbiton in the first place? True, at the time it had been the call of his hearth, and the longing to look outside his kitchen window at the green rolling hills of Shire again, which had driven him home after he had fulfilled his quest. Yet thinking back now, why hadn't he just chosen to remain in Rivendell, where he had been revered by the separate races of elves and dwarves and was free to pursue all the knowledge of history as he chose? Since returning, he had received nothing but scorn and suspicion from his fellow hobbits, and succeeded in nothing but placing his own burdens on others, others who never desired nor deserved it. Yes....after everything, perhaps it would be best for everybody if he did leave the Shire again, now that everyone despised him more than ever, now that the only one he truly cared for was gone...

...dead. But no, dead was too devastating of a word to use. Not yet. He wasn't ready to use that word in referring to his beloved nephew. He knew that some relatives of his from Buckland still had hope, and were out looking for him. Yet they hadn't seen the murderous glare in the hideous man's eyes, as Bilbo did, right before he vanished up the hill. And it wasn't even thinking about Frodo's death at the hands of that monster that made his skin go cold and his flesh begin to crawl. The worst was when he forced himself to think about what Frodo must have suffered in the days beforehand. It had been in that merciful scream, when he had foolishly demanded proof of Frodo's presence that he had heard the scream of pure, unending suffering, and despair at further abuse. And there was the letter, and the blood upon it. He still had it. Removing it from his pocket, Bilbo willed himself to look at it once again.

Dear Bilbo,

Hello Uncle. I've been kidnapped.

I am safe. But they will kill me, Uncle, if you do not do what they say. They say they want the riches and treasures you brought back from your travels all those years ago.

I didn't know you had so much money, Uncle. I'm sorry I was so annoying, such a nuisance, before this happened. I didn't mean to be, and I'm sorry I've now made it worse. Truly, I didn't mean to make myself so vulnerable. I didn't know.

I miss you, Uncle. I miss you so much. I want to see you so

Frodo

Tears threatened to fall every time that he read Frodo's parting words, but he blinked them away in an attempt to not mar the letter further. The letter looked older now, having been folded and unfolded numerous times, and remaining in his pocket for several days. After many careful inspections, Bilbo could now see the alteration in handwriting from other letters he had of Frodo's. It was Frodo's handwriting, Bilbo was sure, yet the words slanted and were clumsily written, as though his hands had been trembling when he wrote. Looking at it closer, as he often did, Bilbo could also discern that the wrinkled spots on the paper were not just due to the blood splatters, but from some other wetness, perhaps tears.

Bilbo folded the letter back up in his hands, taking tender care to not damage it further. For these were the last words that he would ever hear from Frodo. And if his poor nephew's spirit could return to him here in Bag End, he wanted him to know that he was taking every moment to pay for not taking the moments before. He wanted him to know that he was sorry.....so, so sorry....

The ache erupted again, this time not just from the pain but from hunger. For the past two days, his appetite had remarkably diminished. If Frodo had been here he would have joked that he was getting by on the same amount of food that his nephew claimed had always satisfied him.

Rising from his chair, Bilbo slowly made his way to the kitchen. Once there, he set about preparing himself a cup of tea, for after having seen the letter again, he didn't think he could keep any solid food down. As he placed the tea kettle over the fire, his tired eyes wandered the room. They eventually fell upon a large chair that had been pushed in the corner. It was Gandalf's. Well, technically it was his, but he had never desired to sit in a chair of that size. He had asked Hamfast to make it especially for his larger friend for when he would frequent Bag End with his presence and would not need to remark upon the smallness of the seats.

It had been a long while since Gandalf had come to the Shire. Because of that, his chair had been pushed to the far corner of the kitchen, and was presently covered with rags and plates not yet placed in the cupboards. Seeing the old chair made Bilbo's heart to clench once again, as he thought about his old friend. He had been previously hoping that Gandalf would come by soon, so that he could introduce him to Frodo, his heir, who had so long wanted to meet him. Yet now the thought of Gandalf ever returning brought on a black cloud of dread. It would mean that he would have to face his friend and admit to him what tragedy had befallen him from his own pride and his rewards for his quest and how they had cost another....he would have to bare to Gandalf the guilt of having inspired Frodo with tales of how beautiful and wonderful it was beyond the Shire, while skipping over the dark terrors of the spiders, of Smaug, of Gollum. In glazing over these details, he had hoped that he would not frighten the young lad; because he hadn't, Frodo must have ended his last days believing him to be a liar.

But worse than anything he might have ever said or not said to Frodo....he would also have to admit to Gandalf about how he had occasionally taken revenge upon those who scorned him for being crazy or a flat-out liar through the use of his abundant wealth. On several occasions, he had in fact bestowed expensive gifts to enemies to simply show that he was not discomforted from their talk, or hung especially beautiful ornaments outside on the evening before Yule. As Bilbo traced over the numerous times he had shoved it in hobbit's faces, he recalled with dread how he had unintentionally brought Frodo into the stupid game as well. When he had first brought Frodo to Bag End, he had bought him brand new clothing, for the wardrobe he had was not especially tattered, but it was very small. Frodo had been running around Hobbiton for weeks in that new green cloak, which was made of a material only sold at the most expensive store in the Shire. As Bilbo thought back on this, his head pitched down into his palm in horrified realization. 'He had been wearing it when he left that morning....Elbereth....no wonder they found him so easily. They probably even knew his name, as everybody did: Frodo Baggins, nephew to the old and cracked but apparently wealthy hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, who loved his nephew dearly, so much that he allowed him to walk out of Bag End that last morning, dejected and alone....'

The water was boiling over in the kettle, and suddenly Bilbo snapped as everything swept over him in one great tidal of guilt and unbridled fury. Slamming the kettle against the back of the hearth so that the water spilled and extinguished the fire, he stormed into his study and began to wreak devastation, ripping through drawers and tearing through his papers.

"Where is it?" he seethed. His eyes, suddenly lit with a wild fire, roamed the room for the book....his book...the thing that as of late had been of the greatest importance, the book that had been on his mind more than Frodo that morning....the book that proclaimed of adventures he'd had fifty years ago and he fancied he'd returned from only yesterday. He wanted to burn it. It would suit the fire even better than logs. More than anything at that moment, he wanted to throw it into the flames. After all that had happened, after the greater possession he'd lost....nothing before Frodo suddenly mattered anymore.

Failing to find it among the scatters of papers and books in his study, Bilbo headed into the library. In the chaos of searching for Frodo and being forced to host three dozens guests in the process, he remembered dumping many of the items that had been sprawled on his tables here. It had to be there somewhere.

Stooping down, he opened two bottom drawers to a small cabinet and began dumping out its contents. Most were books heaped in mounds of dust and had obviously not been read in years. Yet he continued to tear through them, tossing them over his shoulder and paying no mind to the sounds of them crashing against the opposite wall.

He had begun pulling out the last of the books, when a particular book caught his eyes. His hand froze in midair, just before he swung the book behind him and lost it within the mess of books discarded. Blowing on the cover to be able to read the print, he saw that it was a mere copy of basic elvish history. Something about it had struck him with familiarity, though. As he examined it closer, realization soon dawned on him. His eyes slowly lost their heated anger as he opened the front cover to see it was a collection of simple elvish stories. Yes, he remembered now. This had been the first book that he had ever given to Frodo.

Leafing through the delicate pages, Bilbo's thoughts traced back once again to his nephew's past....a past whose pain he had hoped would fade with hope of a brighter future.

Although Bilbo had been close with Primula and Drogo Baggins even before Frodo's birth, and had known the boy from his first days, it had been after their death that he had truly begun to look after Frodo and understand how much he cared for him. Mere weeks after Primula and Drogo's death, he had considered adopting Frodo. Yet he had faltered on making the final decision for years, fearing that Frodo would be reluctant to leave Brandy Hall, the only other home he had ever known, and that Frodo's parents would have objected to his adopting Frodo. Although he had cared deeply for Primula and Drogo, and they had mutual respect for him, he had not been referred to in Drogo's will. Bilbo also knew that they had reserves about him when it came to his trips away from the Shire and his stories of far-away places, just as everyone else did. Yet he had missed the boy often and wanted him to know that he was there for him; if not always, then as often as he could be spared. In the years before he adopted Frodo, Bilbo often came by Brandy Hall. His visits had become a much looked forward to occasions for the younger hobbits, for he always brought presents for them all. He had always made sure that Frodo received an extra present in secret, for he knew that the boy didn't receive gifts as often as those who still had parents and siblings. His first present to Frodo, when he was very young and just learning how to read, had been this book of elvish tales.

Bilbo had become so lost once more in his thoughts that he began to sway. He managed to bring a hand out just in time to clutch a chair before he tipped over in dizziness. The emergence from that memory brought him back to the same agonizing truth....Frodo, his poor, kind-hearted nephew, who had already suffered so much and had clung to him for love, guidance, safety, was gone. Forever. As Bilbo held the book to his heart, he knew that he had to put his soul to peace, just as he felt a need to give this book to a new owner. Then an idea came to him.

Heading into the corridor, Bilbo buttoned up the top part of his vest and put on his coat. He kept the book close to his side as he opened the door to the hole for the first time in two days. The sun was beaming down upon a green emerald carpet of land before him. Holding up a hand to block out the irritating rays, he turned from the sun and passed down the walkway to the Gamgees.

Mrs. Gamgee stood outside the door to the Gamgee's hole, stringing up a line of laundry. Hamfast had gone to the market to fetch some items for the inn, leaving the older sons to look after the place while he was gone. She had hoped to get a few chores done before he came back, however her eyes were burning with exhaustion and the terrible weight of grief upon her had caused her to be unable to work any faster than a cow's lazy trot.

It was not until Bilbo had nearly come up behind her that she felt the presence of someone nearby. As she turned, it was impossible to suppress a gasp as she saw him before her. It was not just the surprise that he had finally come out of Bag End, but it was also his pale and haggard appearance. As his eyes met hers, he thought to himself something very similar; Mrs. Gamgee had visibly paled as well in the past days, and this was enhanced by the extreme fatigue in her eyes.

"Sir, you've come out!" she exclaimed, both startled and relieved.

"For a moment," he said, fixedly.

A moment past in awkward silence, as Bilbo could find nothing else to say and Bell faltered in asking what she knew he surely did not want to be asked. But she had to ask, and it took her a moment to careful choose how to say it. For the moment, or perhaps for now on, the humor was gone between them.

"How are you holding up, sir?" she finally found her voice to ask.

"Fine," he said. His tone was more bitter than he had intended. Yet how could she expect him to answer that? Immediately, Mrs. Gamgee dropped her eyes and returned to removing some clothes from the line. As she turned, Bilbo realized his mistake of snapping at her, and swallowed down the bitterness in his voice, if only because it was not her he was angry at right now. Quite the contrary.

"How is Sam doing?" he asked, his voice softer.

Mrs. Gamgee did not respond for a moment. Instead, she continued to fold up the sheets off the line, her puffy eyes not meeting his. "He's still very upset, sir," she whispered. "Hamfast couldn't bare to let him work the first day, and had Hamson take up his jobs. But he wouldn't sleep, and he said that he'd rather do something. Work, I don't know, anything to keep him occupied. So I've let him do some light tasks in the garden. But he's still not able to sleep, or work very fast..... your Frodo had been such a good friend to him, sir. Even though he just lost that aunt, he never knew her all that well. This was the first real loss he's ever gone through."

Bilbo nodded, forcefully. "Where is he?"

"He's....he's in the garden to the side of the house. He would have come by to fix yours, sir, as I see they're lookin' somewhat thirsty, but you hadn't called...."

"It's all right, Mrs. Gamgee, I'm not asking him to work right now. I just wanted to see him for a moment," he said, holding the book to his chest. "I just wanted to give him something."

Mrs. Gamgee pointed around the door and Bilbo turned in the direction of the Gamgee's own private garden. Two of the Gamgee boys were at the far end of the garden, looking as though they were re-seeding some barren ground. He spotted Sam in the process of pulling out weeds on the closer edge of the garden. As Bilbo approached him, he could see that he was working rather tiredly, pausing every few seconds to simply sit and stare, and then continue back to pulling out the weeds with sluggish strength. Like Mrs. Gamgee, and like himself, Sam looked nothing less than tired and haunted. Bilbo paused for a moment before he went over, as he realized how insensitive he had been to Samwise in the past week. In the chaos of Frodo's 'runaway,' then when he had received the ransom note, and even in the days before the failed exchange, he had not paid nearly enough attention to how all of this had been affecting Merry, and Sam. The both of them had been shoved aside from notice from the start, and there had seemed not time to console either one. When Merry had broken down and had almost ran out into the night, swearing that he would kill the men that had kidnapped and most likely murdered his cousin, Sam had simply sat by and watched, silently. Until now, Bilbo hadn't realized the severity of how it must have affected him too. For although Merry had been Frodo's cousin, Sam had been Frodo's only true friend that he had made so far in Hobbiton. He knew that Sam had been flattered by Frodo's friendship, just as Frodo had been grateful for his. As Bilbo stood at the edge of the garden, he it felt as though it was time to repay back some of that goodness that Sam had given to Frodo, when he himself had not.

Sam seemed so dazed and exhausted that he did not register Bilbo's presence beside him until the older hobbit was practically standing over him. Looking up, it took the young hobbit a good five seconds to register that it was master Baggins. Then his eyes went wide with temporary alertness, and he began to tear up the weeds a bit faster.

"G-good mornin', sir," he said, in a voice that sounded as though it had not been used in a while.

"Good morning, Samwise," Bilbo answered. Bending down so that he was level with the sandy-haired hobbit, he waited until Sam's eyes met his before he continued. "Your Mother tells me you're very sad about Frodo."

Sam's eyes fell instantly. He opened his mouth to say something for a moment, but then closed it again. It was only after he began to go back to his work and continued to rip out the weeds that he found the words. "I miss him sir," he answered, quietly. "He was good to me, sir, an' not just as a worker. He treated me like a real friend, and he was one to me...."

Bilbo could hear the tears coming into the boy's voice. In not wanting to upset him further, Bilbo placed a strong, hopefully comforting hand on his shoulder to pause him.

"I miss him too, Sam," he said, his own throat beginning to constrict. "But he's all right now. I know that he misses you too. You were a good friend to him....he told me so before...."

Looking down for a moment, Bilbo reached inside his coat and removed the book from his inside pocket. Taking one of Sam's hands, he placed the book in his open palm. "I want you to have this.. It-it was the first book that I ever gave Frodo. It has many of the elvish stories that I heard you liked to hear from him. I know that you've been learning to read........I think that he would have wanted you to have it." With that, he gave the boy's hands a gentle squeeze, and left the book in his hands.

The younger hobbit looked up, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Bilbo struggled to keep a straight face when being confronted with such an open, guileless expression, and found the effort unbearable.

"Thank you, sir," Sam whispered.

With that, Bilbo nodded and gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder before rising and turning back to Bag End. Mrs. Gamgee watched as her master walked slowly up to the path of his home, each step becoming more weary than the one before. Over the past three days, her insides had felt as though she'd become a dish rag the way she had been rung and leaked nothing but tears. All she had been able to do was pray....pray for Frodo, pray for her own husband, who believed that he was partly responsible for the failed exchanged, she prayed for her dear son, Samwise, who felt as though he had just lost his best friend. And perhaps more than anyone, she prayed for her master, Bilbo Baggins. She would never understand why life demanded that one could not understand what they had until they had lost it most grievously. Even more, why did this loss often have to happen to the best of the world. As she watched Bilbo head up the final steps to his hole before closing the door, her heart went out to him and she prayed once again that he would find peace, if there was any to be had.

The light had been so bright when he had emerged from Bag End that Bilbo had squinted all the way down to the Gamgees. Returning into the dim, window-drawn hole, the black starts refused to fade from his eyes and he had trouble finding his way to the den. For a moment, he felt a little bit lighter having given Frodo's book to Sam. Within all of his failures, he had at least lessened the burden on one young soul. Yet he didn't resume his former practice of fixing himself a cup of tea, nor decking out at his desk to write down his most recent thoughts as was his old schedule. Instead, he just went back to the den and sat in his own chair. Only then did he allow the tears to fall.

TBC

Thank you to all my beloved reviewers! With each chapter that I write, I am freshly astounded at how many people are reading my story and take the time to review. Your words are the greatest motivation and praise. Thank you all!

Next chapter will be hopefully be written within the week.....that's an almost guaranteed promise. :)


	18. Worthless Schemes

Title: Treasures  
Author: BellaMonte  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I possess none of the characters, with the exception of the nasty kidnappers  
Summary: Gossip ran through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins harbored a vast fortune in the depths of his home. A few ruffians attempt to seize that fortune by kidnapping his beloved nephew and holding him for ransom.   
Greetings! OMG, yes it is, the long-demanded and long-overdue chapter 16. My apologizes for committing myself to so many different activities at once. However, I'm on spring break right now and I'm hoping to get chapter 17 written/posted within the week.   
  
Thanks for everyone's awesome support/reviews!  
~*~  
Kari Kamiya: It's all in the name of plot. I actually began the story on its first try where there actually wasn't any tension between Frodo and Bilbo, but then a lot of the tension and suspense to the story just wasn't there. I'm trying to make this story based a lot on reflection too, and the problems that Frodo and Bilbo were having before he was kidnapped has allowed those problems to manifest into a lot more issues than the standard kidnap/rescue. I just wanted to make it a little more deep than that.   
  
Elerrina Wood: "And, what is Bilbo planning next, I wonder?": Several things are up ahead for Bilbo, beyond this chapter. I hope everyone will be both pleased and intrigued when he begins to take action to finding Frodo.   
  
Ubiquitous Pitt: (Lizzie bows down to her most insightful reviewer) Thank you again for such a wonderful review. My apologies that this chapter took so long, just as you're in the mists of illustrating a fanfic, I've had history papers to tackle.   
  
Chaos: Danke, Chaos! (Tut mir leid, meinen Deutsch ist sehr schlecht, Ich kann spreche Englisch.) Thank you for the illustration, Chaos! That was so sweet of you! I loved it! Don't call yourself a bad artist, that was excellent. For my part, all I can make are little stick figures.   
  
Shlee Verde: Thanks for the review, it's always appreciated from you! :) "I really want to see how Bilbo is dealing": In response to this question, here's the chapter to see what Bilbo's been up to as Frodo takes that lovely journey back to Bree.   
  
Radia: On your so-tiny detail, you got me! My bad, I must've mistaken Merry's eyes at that point. Please forgive the error. However, I now know that Merry's eyes are blue, so perhaps I shall go back and change that earlier mistake sometime. :)  
  
Joyce: Thanks sooo much for the awesome review! And "Can we expect any chapters with Merry and Sam in them?": I know that Merry's been in the back seat as of recently, and Sam has been a minor character for the most part, both of them have integral parts to play in the story, Merry especially. Although he will only be mentioned in this chapter, believe me when I say that neither of them have resigned from the story. :)   
  
Jodancingtree: "OK seems out of place.": I know, I've had that pointed out to me before. As I said to Radia, my apologies for the error. On your question of Frodo's age, yes, he was about 21 when he went to live with Bilbo, and in human terms that would be about fourteen or fifteen. However, if you look at Elijah Wood in movies when he was that age, that would be 'The Good Son' and 'North' years, when he still looks very young, small, and as we know about Frodo, he was a very curious and innocent hobbit at a late age, he had to be if he were to be able to withstand the power of the One Ring. So I see Frodo as about the age he was when Elijah Wood was in The Good Son, which is pretty much at the same place Elijah-Wood Frodo would have looked, had he actually been a 20 year old hobbit. :)  
~*~  
Bag End had been quiet for some days now. Being a rather large and opulent hole, and located on one of the highest points in the Shire, the Hill, it had always been a center of interest to those who passed through Hobbiton. After the news had spread across the Shire like wildfire that Bilbo Baggins's nephew had been kidnapped by ruffians who demanded his elusive wealth, this curious attention at Bag End became even more so.   
  
"The poor hobbit," Angela Hardbottle said, sadly, as she sat looking up at the door to Bag End from her seat in the inn.   
  
"Oh, stuff that," muttered another hobbit, sourly. "Why pour your pity over him when everyone knows how cracked he is! Why, I hear that he refused to pay for that boy's return, and insisted on cuddling up with that treasures instead! What do you think of that?"   
  
"I didn't hear nothin' like that," Angela Hardbottle said, furtively. "I hear it's because he's too heartbroken o'er the lad that he's not partcipiatin' in the search."   
  
"What search?" the other asked, failing to disguise the suspiciousness in his voice, though it was unnoticed due to the attention their conversation was drawing from other hobbits at the inn.   
  
"Oh, I hear there's a search goin' on for him by relatives of the Baggins's boy from Buckland. He was half a Brandybuck, you know," piped in a hobbit from Tookland. "They don't reckon he's alive, but some of his Brandybuck aunts want him to have a proper burial....so they're lookin' for the body."  
  
"A few others are headin' to Bree, I hear," claimed another hobbit from across the room, "For the boy was kidnapped by men, you know, and they think they might catch 'em there."   
  
Gasps were followed by an uncomfortable moment of silence, as those who were listening digested the weight of what they were saying.   
  
"Who would've thought something like this would happen here," Angela said, edgily. "It's more ridiculous sounding, like something that would happen in a fairy tale or one of Bilbo's own silly stories from far away. But not here....not in the Shire."  
  
The sour one snorted again. "Ah yes, trouble always seems to follow Baggins, it has ever since his return all those years ago. I'll bet he's enjoying all the attention, he is. If he were so concerned for the boy, then why's he been up in his hole for the past few days, and not helping in the search? Why, I wouldn't be surprised if he'd disappear again with those elves, since he doesn't have that boy to look after anymore."   
  
As the hobbit spoke, all eyes eventually wandered to the Hill once again. It was true. Since the night of the failed exchange of treasure and hobbit lad, no one had come or gone from Bag End. Some speculated that it was guilt which confined Master Baggins in his hole, being unable to face the world for his failure, while others claimed that he was simply going about his typical schedule of shutting the world out. These were the ones who had nodded in agreement when the hobbit suggested that Baggins had refused to pay for his nephew.   
  
"I hear he's too grieved to leave his home," Angela spoke up again in mild defense of Bilbo. "I'd seen him with the boy before, an' there's no mistake, that boy loved him despite his peculiar ways. The loss o' that boy probably right killed him too."   
  
"Oh, it's all gossip," scoffed Sara Bolger. "You all talk, not knowin' what's what from what. The only one who knows for sure what happened an what didn't is Baggins himself, and Hamfast Gamgee, though I hear he's real grieved too, thinkin' that he failed his master in not getting the boy back. I hear that from Halfred Gamgee himself, so I know what I'm talkin about."   
  
The conversation continued on for a brief period, as the hobbits debated on what exactly happened on that terrible night. It had been the hobbits who had interrupted the exchange that had been responsible for the truth getting out, however all of the real answers as to what had happened beforehand were locked up behind the closed door on the Hill.   
  
After the hobbits finished up their lunches and left the Inn, they headed down the road, passing the gate of Bag End on their way. If they were to have gone up the path, they would have noticed that it was lined with weeds. The typically immaculate garden was also unkempt, with weeds sprouting between the beautiful flowers and the plants drooping from thirst. Although it was a sad sight indeed, Samwise Gamgee had not been called to attend to it.   
  
Inside, a fine layer of dust had settled upon the floor and furniture. A crack had also appeared in the ceiling just above the front door. During the four long days of searching, Mrs. Gamgee had noticed this crack, yet had been too preoccupied to attend to it. Since then, dirt that had slipped through the crack and had collected into a small mound on the floor, but the master of Bag End made no attempt to sweep it.   
  
On this late afternoon he sat before the fireplace in his den, just as he done in the days before. The fire made soft spitting noises as it burned the remaining logs. All else was quiet. Bilbo continued to watch the flames, unmoving and visibly altered from the Bilbo Baggins that Merry had seen in that chair just days before. He was not wearing his coat and his vest hung over his chest, unbuttoned. His hair was a little wild and sprouted a fresh spray of gray in his otherwise chestnut brown curls. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot and stared dully into the flames as they licked away at the wood.   
  
He would have to get one of the Gamgee sons to bring more logs eventually. Yet that would mean that he would have to face Mrs. Gamgee again. Just as before, she would give him that look of pity and remorse, and she would plead with him not to let the loss of his nephew destroy him, not to let the guilt that had been tearing up apart devour him whole. He'd rather let the logs burn to ashes; he'd rather endure the cold.   
  
"F-Frodo n-never knew that I was sorry, F-father! He-he'll n-never know that I w-waited f-for him!" the memory of Merry's voice, choked with sobs, echoed through his mind.   
  
Bilbo had been remembering a lot of things lately. Strangely, many of these memories had only been vague impressions at the time; they came back to him now clearer than when they had actually happened. Perhaps it was because he did not have time before to think about them, because there was so much else going on. Now there was nothing left to do but think back on them. His nephew, Merry's, shattered face as he had rushed to the door and seen the Gamgees supporting a dazed Bilbo and no Frodo, was one of particular clarity. And if Bilbo ever tried to block out that memory, there was the resentment and fury in Saradoc Brandybuck's face to replace it.   
  
The day after, Merry's father had arrived at Bag End to collect his son. By then, the news of Frodo's kidnapping and his uncle's failure to get him back had spread over the entire Shire. Bilbo doubted not that Saradoc was taking his son because he feared for his safety, for Merry was Bilbo's nephew as well. As Saradoc led a sobbing Merry away, he shot Bilbo a look of betrayal and resentment within his cold blue eyes. Before this, Saradoc had trusted Bilbo. Trusted him enough to allow Bilbo to adopt Frodo, who was also his own nephew, and keep him happy and safe. Now, grieving for that lost nephew and suffering the guilt of his own terrible judgement, he could not bring himself to utter sympathy towards Bilbo, who stood silent and numb before him.   
  
'A just decision,' Bilbo mused.   
  
He must really be going mad now, he thought, as his eyes wandered to the small cushioned chair near his. He still couldn't believe that the door wasn't going to open, then slam close, and be followed by the soft sounds of feet scampering to his side. Even as he sat, his ears waited to hear the door open, and a voice calling from the corridor, "I'm back, Uncle!" Yet no such sounds came, and he remembered that it didn't matter how long he sat here waiting. Those sounds, once distracting and even irritable at times, were gone forever. He was alone.   
  
A violent ache suddenly erupted in his chest. He had started to suffer from this ache on that night, when he'd had to be helped home after being knocked senseless by the wild-haired ruffian. As Hamfast and Halfred had led him to his own room, they had passed by Frodo's open door. Bilbo had looked inside and seen that the covers were still pulled back, as he had placed them. Yet he did not have his little boy to place there. It had been in that moment that he'd realized that Frodo was gone.   
  
The ache surged again, nearly cutting off his breath this time, and Bilbo dipped his face into a shaking hand. His sorrow sweeping into an even deeper realm of lamentation, he began to wonder what it was that had ever possessed him to ever return to Hobbiton in the first place? True, at the time it had been the call of his hearth, and the longing to look outside his kitchen window at the green rolling hills of Shire again, which had driven him home after he had fulfilled his quest. Yet thinking back now, why hadn't he just chosen to remain in Rivendell, where he had been revered by the separate races of elves and dwarves and was free to pursue all the knowledge of history as he chose? Since returning, he had received nothing but scorn and suspicion from his fellow hobbits, and succeeded in nothing but placing his own burdens on others, others who never desired nor deserved it. Yes....after everything, perhaps it would be best for everybody if he did leave the Shire again, now that everyone despised him more than ever, now that the only one he truly cared for was gone...  
  
...dead. But no, dead was too devastating of a word to use. Not yet. He wasn't ready to use that word in referring to his beloved nephew. He knew that some relatives of his from Buckland still had hope, and were out looking for him. Yet they hadn't seen the murderous glare in the hideous man's eyes, as Bilbo did, right before he vanished up the hill. And it wasn't even thinking about Frodo's death at the hands of that monster that made his skin go cold and his flesh begin to crawl. The worst was when he forced himself to think about what Frodo must have suffered in the days beforehand. It had been in that merciful scream, when he had foolishly demanded proof of Frodo's presence that he had heard the scream of pure, unending suffering, and despair at further abuse. And there was the letter, and the blood upon it. He still had it. Removing it from his pocket, Bilbo willed himself to look at it once again.   
*Dear Bilbo,   
  
Hello Uncle. I've been kidnapped.   
  
I am safe. But they will kill me, Uncle, if you do not do what they say. They say they want the riches and treasures you brought back from your travels all those years ago.   
  
I didn't know you had so much money, Uncle. I'm sorry I was so annoying, such a nuisance, before this happened. I didn't mean to be, and I'm sorry I've now made it worse. Truly, I didn't mean to make myself so vulnerable. I didn't know.  
  
I miss you, Uncle. I miss you so much. I want to see you so   
  
Frodo*  
Tears threatened to fall every time that he read Frodo's parting words, but he blinked them away in an attempt to not mar the letter further. The letter looked older now, having been folded and unfolded numerous times, and remaining in his pocket for several days. After many careful inspections, Bilbo could now see the alteration in handwriting from other letters he had of Frodo's. It was Frodo's handwriting, Bilbo was sure, yet the words slanted and were clumsily written, as though his hands had been trembling when he wrote. Looking at it closer, as he often did, Bilbo could also discern that the wrinkled spots on the paper were not just due to the blood splatters, but from some other wetness, perhaps tears.   
  
Bilbo folded the letter back up in his hands, taking tender care to not damage it further. For these were the last words that he would ever hear from Frodo. And if his poor nephew's spirit could return to him here in Bag End, he wanted him to know that he was taking every moment to pay for not taking the moments before. He wanted him to know that he was sorry.....so, so sorry....  
  
The ache erupted again, this time not just from the pain but from hunger. For the past two days, his appetite had remarkably diminished. If Frodo had been here he would have joked that he was getting by on the same amount of food that his nephew claimed had always satisfied him.   
  
Rising from his chair, Bilbo slowly made his way to the kitchen. Once there, he set about preparing himself a cup of tea, for after having seen the letter again, he didn't think he could keep any solid food down. As he placed the tea kettle over the fire, his tired eyes wandered the room. They eventually fell upon a large chair that had been pushed in the corner. It was Gandalf's. Well, technically it was his, but he had never desired to sit in a chair of that size. He had asked Hamfast to make it especially for his larger friend for when he would frequent Bag End with his presence and would not need to remark upon the smallness of the seats.   
  
It had been a long while since Gandalf had come to the Shire. Because of that, his chair had been pushed to the far corner of the kitchen, and was presently covered with rags and plates not yet placed in the cupboards. Seeing the old chair made Bilbo's heart to clench once again, as he thought about his old friend. He had been previously hoping that Gandalf would come by soon, so that he could introduce him to Frodo, his heir, who had so long wanted to meet him. Yet now the thought of Gandalf ever returning brought on a black cloud of dread. It would mean that he would have to face his friend and admit to him what tragedy had befallen him from his own pride and his rewards for his quest and how they had cost another....he would have to bare to Gandalf the guilt of having inspired Frodo with tales of how beautiful and wonderful it was beyond the Shire, while skipping over the dark terrors of the spiders, of Smaug, of Gollum. In glazing over these details, he had hoped that he would not frighten the young lad; because he hadn't, Frodo must have ended his last days believing him to be a liar.   
  
But worse than anything he might have ever said or not said to Frodo....he would also have to admit to Gandalf about how he had occasionally taken revenge upon those who scorned him for being crazy or a flat-out liar through the use of his abundant wealth. On several occasions, he had in fact bestowed expensive gifts to enemies to simply show that he was not discomforted from their talk, or hung especially beautiful ornaments outside on the evening before Yule. As Bilbo traced over the numerous times he had shoved it in hobbit's faces, he recalled with dread how he had unintentionally brought Frodo into the stupid game as well. When he had first brought Frodo to Bag End, he had bought him brand new clothing, for the wardrobe he had was not especially tattered, but it was very small. Frodo had been running around Hobbiton for weeks in that new green cloak, which was made of a material only sold at the most expensive store in the Shire. As Bilbo thought back on this, his head pitched down into his palm in horrified realization. 'He had been wearing it when he left that morning....Elbereth....no wonder they found him so easily. They probably even knew his name, as everybody did: Frodo Baggins, nephew to the old and cracked but apparently wealthy hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, who loved his nephew dearly, so much that he allowed him to walk out of Bag End that last morning, dejected and alone....completely alone....'  
  
The water was boiling over in the kettle, and suddenly Bilbo snapped as everything swept over him in one great tidal of guilt and unbridled fury. Slamming the kettle against the back of the hearth so that the water spilled and extinguished the fire, he stormed into his study and began to wreak devastation, ripping through drawers and tearing through his papers.   
  
"Where is it?" he seethed. His eyes, suddenly lit with a wild fire, roamed the room for the book....his book...the thing that as of late had been of the greatest importance, the book that had been on his mind more than Frodo that morning....the book that proclaimed of adventures he'd had fifty years ago and he fancied he'd returned from only yesterday. He wanted to burn it. It would suit the fire even better than logs. More than anything at that moment, he wanted to throw it into the flames. After all that had happened, after the greater possession he'd lost....nothing before Frodo suddenly mattered anymore.   
  
Failing to find it among the scatters of papers and books in his study, Bilbo headed into the library. In the chaos of searching for Frodo and being forced to host three dozens guests in the process, he remembered dumping many of the items that had been sprawled on his tables here. It had to be there somewhere.   
  
Stooping down, he opened two bottom drawers to a small cabinet and began dumping out its contents. Most were books heaped in mounds of dust and had obviously not been read in years. Yet he continued to tear through them, tossing them over his shoulder and paying no mind to the sounds of them crashing against the opposite wall.   
  
He had begun pulling out the last of the books, when a particular book caught his eyes. His hand froze in midair, just before he swung the book behind him and lost it within the mess of books discarded. Blowing on the cover to be able to read the print, he saw that it was a mere copy of basic elvish history. Something about it had struck him with familiarity, though. As he examined it closer, realization soon dawned on him. His eyes slowly lost their heated anger as he opened the front cover to see it was a collection of simple elvish stories. Yes, he remembered now. This had been the first book that he had ever given to Frodo.  
  
Leafing through the delicate pages, Bilbo's thoughts traced back once again to his nephew's past....a past whose pain he had hoped would fade with hope of a brighter future.   
  
Although Bilbo had been close with Primula and Drogo Baggins even before Frodo's birth, and had known the boy from his first days, it had been after their death that he had truly begun to look after Frodo and understand how much he cared for him. Mere weeks after Primula and Drogo's death, he had considered adopting Frodo. Yet he had faltered on making the final decision for years, fearing that Frodo would be reluctant to leave Brandy Hall, the only other home he had ever known, and that Frodo's parents would have objected to his adopting Frodo. Although he had cared deeply for Primula and Drogo, and they had mutual respect for him, he had not been referred to in Drogo's will. Bilbo also knew that they had reserves about him when it came to his trips away from the Shire and his stories of far-away places, just as everyone else did. Yet he had missed the boy often and wanted him to know that he was there for him; if not always, then as often as he could be spared. In the years before he adopted Frodo, Bilbo often came by Brandy Hall. His visits had become a much looked forward to occasions for the younger hobbits, for he always brought presents for them all. He had always made sure that Frodo received an extra present in secret, for he knew that the boy didn't receive gifts as often as those who still had parents and siblings. His first present to Frodo, when he was very young and just learning how to read, had been this book of elvish tales.   
  
Bilbo had become so lost once more in his thoughts that he began to sway. He managed to bring a hand out just in time to clutch a chair before he tipped over in dizziness. The emergence from that memory brought him back to the same agonizing truth....Frodo, his poor, kind-hearted nephew, who had already suffered so much and had clung to him for love, guidance, safety, was gone. Forever. As Bilbo held the book to his heart, he knew that he had to put his soul to peace, just as he felt a need to give this book to a new owner. Then an idea came to him.   
  
Heading into the corridor, Bilbo buttoned up the top part of his vest and put on his coat. He kept the book close to his side as he opened the door to the hole for the first time in two days. The sun was beaming down upon a green emerald carpet of land before him. Holding up a hand to block out the irritating rays, he turned from the sun and passed down the walkway to the Gamgees.  
~*~  
Mrs. Gamgee stood outside the door to the Gamgee's hole, stringing up a line of laundry. Hamfast had gone to the market to fetch some items for the inn, leaving the older sons to look after the place while he was gone. She had hoped to get a few chores done before he came back, however her eyes were burning with exhaustion and the terrible weight of grief upon her had caused her to be unable to work any faster than a cow's lazy trot.   
  
It was not until Bilbo had nearly come up behind her that she felt the presence of someone nearby. As she turned, it was impossible to suppress a gasp as she saw him before her. It was not just the surprise that he had finally come out of Bag End, but it was also his pale and haggard appearance. As his eyes met hers, he thought to himself something very similar; Mrs. Gamgee had visibly paled as well in the past days, and this was enhanced by the extreme fatigue in her eyes.   
  
"Sir, you've come out!" she exclaimed, both startled and relieved.   
  
"For a moment," he said, fixedly.   
  
A moment past in awkward silence, as Bilbo could find nothing else to say and Bell faltered in asking what she knew he surely did not want to be asked. But she had to ask, and it took her a moment to careful choose how to say it. For the moment, or perhaps for now on, the humor was gone between them.   
  
"How are you holding up, sir?" she finally found her voice to ask.   
  
"Fine," he said. His tone was more bitter than he had intended. Yet how could she expect him to answer that? Immediately, Mrs. Gamgee dropped her eyes and returned to removing some clothes from the line. As she turned, Bilbo realized his mistake of snapping at her, and swallowed down the bitterness in his voice, if only because it was not her he was angry at right now. Quite the contrary.   
  
"How is Sam doing?" he asked, his voice softer.   
  
Mrs. Gamgee did not respond for a moment. Instead, she continued to fold up the sheets off the line, her puffy eyes not meeting his. "He's still very upset, sir," she whispered. "Hamfast couldn't bare to let him work the first day, and had Hamson take up his jobs. But he wouldn't sleep, and he said that he'd rather do something. Work, I don't know, anything to keep him occupied. So I've let him do some light tasks in the garden. But he's still not able to sleep, or work very fast..... your Frodo had been such a good friend to him, sir. Even though he just lost that aunt, he never knew her all that well. This was the first real loss he's ever gone through."   
  
Bilbo nodded, forcefully. "Where is he?"  
  
"He's....he's in the garden to the side of the house. He would have come by to fix yours, sir, as I see they're lookin' somewhat thirsty, but you hadn't called...."  
  
"It's all right, Mrs. Gamgee, I'm not asking him to work right now. I just wanted to see him for a moment," he said, holding the book to his chest. "I just wanted to give him something."   
  
Mrs. Gamgee pointed around the door and Bilbo turned in the direction of the Gamgee's own private garden. Two of the Gamgee boys were at the far end of the garden, looking as though they were re-seeding some barren ground. He spotted Sam in the process of pulling out weeds on the closer edge of the garden. As Bilbo approached him, he could see that he was working rather tiredly, pausing every few seconds to simply sit and stare, and then continue back to pulling out the weeds with sluggish strength. Like Mrs. Gamgee, and like himself, Sam looked nothing less than tired and haunted. Bilbo paused for a moment before he went over, as he realized how insensitive he had been to Samwise in the past week. In the chaos of Frodo's 'runaway,' then when he had received the ransom note, and even in the days before the failed exchange, he had not paid nearly enough attention to how all of this had been affecting Merry, and Sam. The both of them had been shoved aside from notice from the start, and there had seemed not time to console either one. When Merry had broken down and had almost ran out into the night, swearing that he would kill the men that had kidnapped and most likely murdered his cousin, Sam had simply sat by and watched, silently. Until now, Bilbo hadn't realized the severity of how it must have affected him too. For although Merry had been Frodo's cousin, Sam had been Frodo's only true friend that he had made so far in Hobbiton. He knew that Sam had been flattered by Frodo's friendship, just as Frodo had been grateful for his. As Bilbo stood at the edge of the garden, he it felt as though it was time to repay back some of that goodness that Sam had given to Frodo, when he himself had not.   
  
Sam seemed so dazed and exhausted that he did not register Bilbo's presence beside him until the older hobbit was practically standing over him. Looking up, it took the young hobbit a good five seconds to register that it was master Baggins. Then his eyes went wide with temporary alertness, and he began to tear up the weeds a bit faster.   
  
"G-good mornin', sir," he said, in a voice that sounded as though it had not been used in a while.   
  
"Good morning, Samwise," Bilbo answered. Bending down so that he was level with the sandy-haired hobbit, he waited until Sam's eyes met his before he continued. "Your Mother tells me you're very sad about Frodo."   
  
Sam's eyes fell instantly. He opened his mouth to say something for a moment, but then closed it again. It was only after he began to go back to his work and continued to rip out the weeds that he found the words. "I miss him sir," he answered, quietly. "He was good to me, sir, an' not just as a worker. He treated me like a real friend, and he was one to me...."   
  
Bilbo could hear the tears coming into the boy's voice. In not wanting to upset him further, Bilbo placed a strong, hopefully comforting hand on his shoulder to pause him.   
  
"I miss him too, Sam," he said, his own throat beginning to constrict. "But he's all right now. I know that he misses you too. You were a good friend to him....he told me so before...."   
Looking down for a moment, Bilbo reached inside his coat and removed the book from his inside pocket. Taking one of Sam's hands, he placed the book in his open palm. "I want you to have this.. It-it was the first book that I ever gave Frodo. It has many of the elvish stories that I heard you liked to hear from him. I know that you've been learning to read........I think that he would have wanted you to have it." With that, he gave the boy's hands a gentle squeeze, and left the book in his hands.   
  
The younger hobbit looked up, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Bilbo struggled to keep a straight face when being confronted with such an open, guileless expression, and found the effort unbearable.   
  
"Thank you, sir," Sam whispered.   
  
With that, Bilbo nodded and gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder before rising and turning back to Bag End. Mrs. Gamgee watched as her master walked slowly up to the path of his home, each step becoming more weary than the one before. Over the past three days, her insides had felt as though she'd become a dish rag the way she had been rung and leaked nothing but tears. All she had been able to do was pray....pray for Frodo, pray for her own husband, who believed that he was partly responsible for the failed exchanged, she prayed for her dear son, Samwise, who felt as though he had just lost his best friend. And perhaps more than anyone, she prayed for her master, Bilbo Baggins. She would never understand why life demanded that one could not understand what they had until they had lost it most grievously. Even more, why did this loss often have to happen to the best of the world. As she watched Bilbo head up the final steps to his hole before closing the door, her heart went out to him and she prayed once again that he would find peace, if there was any to be had.   
~*~  
The light had been so bright when he had emerged from Bag End that Bilbo had squinted all the way down to the Gamgees. Returning into the dim, window-drawn hole, the black starts refused to fade from his eyes and he had trouble finding his way to the den. For a moment, he felt a little bit lighter having given Frodo's book to Sam. Within all of his failures, he had at least lessened the burden on one young soul. Yet he didn't resume his former practice of fixing himself a cup of tea, nor decking out at his desk to write down his most recent thoughts as was his old schedule. Instead, he just went back to the den and sat in his own chair. Only then did he allow the tears to fall.   
TBC  
Thank you to all my beloved reviewers! With each chapter that I write, I am freshly astounded at how many people are reading my story and take the time to review. Your words are the greatest motivation and praise. Thank you all!  
  
Next chapter will be hopefully be written within the week.....that's an almost guaranteed promise. :) 


	19. Two Months Later

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

E-Mail: 

Rating: PG-13 for violence and wee hobbit suffering

Disclaimer: I own merely the rotten, nasty kidnappers. All others are property of J. R. Tolkien

Summary: You know the plot. Bad people kidnap Frodo. Bilbo fails to get him back. What happens next?

A/N: For clarification, the title of this chapter "Two Months Later" refers to two months after the chapter 'The Adoption,' or two months after Frodo first came to live with Bilbo, NOT two months after the last chapter where Bilbo is mourning and Frodo is still kidnapped. The next chapter will automatically pick up to where Frodo left off with the kidnappers. This is just another brief interlude, a lot less sweet than the last one was intended, and I couldn't come up with a better title. It's just that in writing this story, I wanted to convey a lot of tension that was building between Frodo and Bilbo before Frodo was kidnapped, and this chapter is meant to bring to light some of the times that led Frodo to feel so dejected, and Bilbo so guilty. When Frodo mentioned to Merry in chapter 1 that he was feeling as though Bilbo was ignoring him and such, this is one occasion that he was thinking about. It's part dream of Frodo's, part flashback, and takes place a few weeks before Frodo is kidnapped.

Hey everybody! As for my chapterly excuse, guess who tried to get into Calculus without the pre-requisite class, and ended up having to re-learn Calculus in a three day period after getting caught, and was obliged to take a placement test? That and a return to college are the reason for updating a bit later than intended. As it is, this is really only half of the chapter I'd initially written, but as this is the best of it that I could work up in the shortest amount of time, I've split the chapters. Next part hopefully will not take too long (of course speaking from me 'too long' is relative :) Hope everyone enjoys!

Wandering Took: Welcome back! Glad to know you're still here. :)

Rose Cotton: Thank you for the review! On your question about the ring, I deliberately have not mentioned it as of yet. Rest assured, it will have some part to play, both to the plot and its effects on Bilbo, but explaining thoroughly would be telling. :) Also, on Mrs. Gamgee's 'praying,' it was simply meant to convey her hope that Bilbo finds peace. I didn't mean it to bring up any religious distinctions, it was just there to show her good nature.

Tiggivon: "oh bilbo. what are you doing?? You can't just abandon frodo and receed into wallowing in self pity and guilt." LoL, Tiggivon, I was saying that too as I wrote it! Thank you too for the sweet review!

CaMinx: "I have come to realize that BellaMonte time does seem to run a bit slower than the rest of ours.": (Gasp!) Ahh! :) A week ago I was ready to respond to that by getting this chapter in on time....and then whoops, a math test came up......so I suppose you are right. My apologizes. :) On your question about Frodo and what is up next for him, he's up for next chapter.

Alisaundre: "Why do I get the feeling that the traitorous hobbit was in on the conversation at the inn?":

Yay! Yay! Somebody caught that! Yes, I did intentionally include that in. It wasn't really necessary to be mentioned, but I just wanted to show that the traitorous hobbit is still lurking around, and he's not just going to slip out of the story. Thanks for pointing it out, I wasn't sure if anyone was going to catch it!

Budgielover: Hey Budgielover! Thanks for the awesome review, am very flattered that my story evoked a squeel. You know I love yours! (I apologize for not reviewing the past few chapters of 'Some Nameless Place' or 'The Ruin of Elves' know that I'm reading and loving both!)

Obelia Medusa: Hey Obelia! Thank you so much for the lovely review. And yes, I know what you mean about the 'human' and 'hobbit' connection. I don't know, I've always considered hobbits to possess the best of human virtues. Plus compared to what the humans have been like in this story, anything less than that seemed pretty decent. I'm sorry I haven't reviewed the past few chapters of 'The Making of the Ringbearer,' I've just been so caught up in work. I can't wait for the next part though, am rubbing hands together eagerly to see what new angst is up ahead! (Hehehee!)

Claudia: "I wonder if Bilbo will ask help from Gandalf somehow?": Hey Claudia! (Number one, am tapping foot for Bound, A Simple Trip to Bree, AND Estel's Shire Friend. Love 'em all! Cannot wait for more!) Oh, and on your question, I cannot answer fully on what part he has to play in the story because that would be spoiling, but yes, he will make a brief appearance, but I can't tell when or why. But he will show up. :)

Frodo sighed silently as he stared up at the ceiling, his hands behind his head. Normally, he couldn't see the ceiling at night and there would be a sea of darkness swirling over his head when he opened his eyes. Tonight, however, there was light coming from the den, filtering through the hallway and outlining the walls and furniture with a dim glow.

It was another night when he was having trouble falling asleep. Judging from the sounds of rustling papers and the clatter of cups from the kitchen, it didn't seem as though his uncle was getting much rest either. Unlike Frodo's relatives at Brandy Hall, who paid precise attention as to when they went to bed and woke in the morning, he had quickly learned that his uncle slept only according to the amount of time it took him to conclude a particular paragraph of his story, or finish the latest chapter of the book he was reading.

Frodo's feet were getting hot under his mounds of blankets. When he shifted his covers they merely became more tangled, and he finally kicked them off completely in frustration. Rolling over onto his side, he closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep. It didn't work. In truth, he didn't really feel like sleeping. He would much rather go and talk to his uncle, whom he had not seen most of the day.

He remembered, though, that Bilbo had mentioned being tired earlier, and he still had much to accomplish tonight. Come to think of it, Bilbo had been tired a lot recently. Even when he didn't remark upon it, his nephew could see the dark circles under his weary eyes, and the somewhat sluggishness of his pace the rest of the day. When Frodo had asked him about it, he claimed that it was because he hadn't been working especially hard on his writing, yet Frodo sensed that it was more than that. He knew that Bilbo had sacrificed an awful amount of his time when he had first moved there, taking him on small trips about Hobbiton and introducing him to his new neighbors. Even though he did not do that now, Frodo was sure that this had something to do with his staying up late, perhaps to make up for time that he had spent with him.

In an effort to help his uncle, Frodo had been more than happy to spend more time away from Bag End in the past weeks. He had met all of the Gamgee family, including their youngest son Sam, who had made him feel especially welcome by inviting him to come fishing with him and his brothers. Mrs. Gamgee was also very nice to him, baking him a delicious apple pie (his personal favorite of all food he'd ever tasted in the shire) when he had first moved there. Or sometimes he would just go off on his own, finding a quiet place to read, or to just wander. And that was fine.....but still.....he missed his uncle....he began missing him the way he used to miss him in Brandy Hall when he would not visit for weeks or even months at a time.

Finally, the itch got the better of him and Frodo found himself slipping out of bed and pattering silently down the hall.

The room was ablaze with a bright orange glow from the fire. As his blue eyes squinted about the room, he saw that fresh logs had been stacked in the hearth. His uncle was obviously not planning to retire anytime soon. He sat at his desk, bent over his work and appearing as though it were an extremely laboring process. He cursed just loud enough to reach Frodo's ears before he crossed something out on his paper, sneering in disappointment at whatever he was writing.

It didn't take a high-witted hobbit from Michael Delving to see that Bilbo was in one of his moods, and disrupting him would most like worsen his irritation. But still, Frodo didn't know if he would be able to sleep tonight unless he could talk to his uncle and perhaps settle whatever was making him feel anxious and hurt inside. Perhaps it would make Bilbo feel better too, to know that he wasn't meaning to be a bother, if in fact he was the reason that he hadn't been able to attend to his work recently.

With this half-hearted resolve, Frodo finally stepped out of the corridor and called out in the brightest voice that he could summon, "Hello Uncle!" The chestnut-brown head jerked up, startled. Frodo winced at the hard expression on his uncle's face. He hadn't been expecting that.

"Frodo, what are you doing up?" he asked, frowning, and Frodo felt the tightness in his chest constrict further. He was right, his uncle hadn't wanted to be bothered right now. Yet he could never be sure. Just last week Frodo had complained of sleeplessness and Bilbo had stayed up with him, fixing him soup and tucking him in once he finally began to feel weary. Tonight he seemed a bit less sympathetic.

It took a moment for Frodo to realize that his uncle was still looking at him in expectation of an answer. Quickly, he replied, "I-I couldn't sleep, that's all." The phrase sounded alarmingly trite, even to his own ears.

His weary uncle sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. "I know the light's a bother," he said, sounding slightly defensive, "but could you just close your door? I had to spend most of the day at the market, and I didn't get anything done earlier."

Frodo swallowed before retreating into the shadows of the corridor. "No, it wasn't that," he said, "I was just a little hungry. I thought that I'd get a snack, that's all," and turned, planning to head back into his room. Yet Bilbo rose from his chair. "What do you want?" he asked, frustrated. He scribbled one last thing in his book. "I'll make it for you."

"No, it's all right if you're busy," Frodo faltered, but Bilbo had already passed him and was heading into the kitchen. Frodo followed, hesitantly. As he entered the kitchen he saw Bilbo putting cups away, noisily, which testified as to how much tea he had drunk that night. He turned to Frodo, who chose to sat at a table across the room.

"What would you like, then?"

Frodo chewed on his lip as he heard the false enthusiasm in his uncle's voice. "Just soup," he said, softly. In truth, he wasn't hungry anymore, and watched silently as Bilbo retrieved a small bowl.

"You know, I did urge you to eat more at supper," Bilbo made the point as he poured the soup. "It's not good to eat too late, for then you won't be hungry at breakfast."

Frodo nodded, keeping his eyes to the floor. He wondered if there was anything he could say that might prompt Bilbo to stay and talk with him for a little while, but his throat seemed to have closed. His uncle proceeded to heat the soup without conversation. As he did, the little hobbit sat, a terrible loneliness beginning to creep upon him. It was a loneliness more fierce than anything he had felt in a long time, since before he had left Brandy Hall. It was a loneliness he certainly never felt when his uncle was right there.

A few more moments of awkward silence passed before Bilbo poured the soup and placed it before him on the table.

"I'm going to bed soon, have a good sleep," he said, before patting the boy's head and retreating back to the den.

"Good night," Frodo responded, quietly.

For a few moments, the tweenager sat in silence and stared down at the hot soup. He hadn't really been hungry but it had been an excuse to persuade his uncle to be with him for a little while. It hurt to have to make excuses for some company, and even then he had failed successfully. It wasn't that he wanted to be a bother to his uncle. Quite the contrary, he knew how annoying he could be. His aunts and uncles at Brandy Hall had never failed to repute him as the most foolishly curious and bothersome hobbit in all of Buckland. Until recently, Bilbo had always seemed to admire him for it.

Since Bilbo had adopted him, however....since he had moved in with him here at Bag End....Frodo had seen a change in his uncle, and it was not a good one. Instead of the cheerful, active and witty uncle that he had always known, he had become frequently distracted and overwhelmed with other things, and he grew visibly annoyed with him the way his uncles and aunts used to. Perhaps it was mere arrogance on his part, but Frodo had always assumed that he was somehow invulnerable to criticism from his uncle, for of all his cousins he seemed to be Bilbo's favorite. This was why he didn't understand why Bilbo had begun to change so much since the adoption. Sometimes Frodo almost wished that he was back in Brandy Hall, if only that it meant seeing his uncle was a joyous occasion, and Bilbo seemed genuinely happy to see him.

With his face still leaning over the bowl of soup, Frodo couldn't tell whether his vision was blurry from the heat or something else. For a little while longer he continued to sit in the kitchen as the nagging question began to creep into him with alarm so great that he began to shake. "Does he not want me here after all?"

Soon after this bewildering inquiry began to consume him, the light from the fireplace was extinguished and he heard his uncle's bedroom door close, leaving him in the darkness. Still, he remained sitting there as the cold air wafted into the room.

(end of dream)

Frodo's eyes lifted unwillingly to his desire to wake and he found himself feeling that same dark and cold around him.

TBC

Thanks to everyone who takes the time to review! Know your observations of what you liked and found interesting are always appreciated and spur me to continue. If not for your reviews, I don't know if I would've pursued the story this far. :)

Chapter 18 will resume the story with Frodo and the nasty kidnappers. I'll get it written/posted as soon as possible. Please be patient with me though, I'm in the beginning of my last quarter at college.


	20. Suspicions

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

E-Mail: 

Rating: PG-13 (for violence and mild cursing)

Disclaimer: I own not the characters with the exception of the nasty kidnappers.

Summary: Bad men kidnap Frodo. Bilbo pines. Yeah.

Chloe Amethyst: Thanks for the review, Chloe! I have both of your reviews, and both were very flattering. You really conveyed it better than I think I could that yeah, I've made Frodo out to be like a child, who's been abused horribly and is now turning on the source of all this, which happens to be his uncle. It just came to me as I was writing this outline that at some point, Frodo had to stop praising his uncle and see him for his faults, and one of them happened to be that he's greatly responsible for all this happening. Plus it results in more angst and later comfort. Thanks for revealing yourself! (No, not like that, but as a lurker :) Warms my heart to know you love the story despite its miseries.

Ubiquitous Pitt: Welcome back! Arg, I feel really bad now for tearing your limbs with the story....yes, I am a bit of a sadist in this period in the story, all I can do is beg to keep reading. I swear there's better things ahead. Thanks for the review. :)

Bookworm2000: "Will one of them, by any chance, be known as "Aragorn" or "Strider"?": Considering this story's obviously AU, it wouldn't hurt, would it? We'll see. Heehee!

"Hmm...I think Frodo's going to get sick.": Really, Bookworm! I think so too! :)

Elerrina Kyledove: "The anger Frodo feels...wow...how can Bilbo fix that?": It's going to take some work. And lots of cuddles.

Niphrandl: Hey there! Missed ya! "And you say that things are going to get worse?": Well, to be honest I think a lot of the greatest miseries of the chapter are behind. Didn't I say that a few chapters back? Oh well, does not matter. In my opinion, "Worthless Schemes" was the most difficult chapter to write because I didn't want Frodo to hate Bilbo (I mean, he obviously doesn't underneath). It just came out to be like J.K. Rowling claimed when defending why she did something bad to my fav character in Book 5: "I had to be an evil sorceress to write children's literature."

Claudia: Hey Claudia! Thanks for the review. Though....ahem...am tapping foot for days now for 'Estel's Shire Friend.' :)

Chaos: Greetings, Chaos! Or rather, Guten Tag! Ich habe meine Deutsch Klasse gefinished. (oh pooh I can't even remember how to say finished. No wonder I ended up with a B average in the classs :)

LilyBaggins: "Oh, Bilbo has a lot to make up for.": Damn straight! :)

Obelia Medusa: (Hides from being tsked once again) Glad you're not completely killing me for the last chapter, as I wrote it I wondered what would be your reaction, you the pinnacle of Bilbo/Frodo SWEETNESS and I, well the opposite. At least at this point. To answer your question, of COURSE all this angsty sht is going to get resolved eventually. I wouldn't built up like this to just break it down....I'm not that cruel, I swears. Oh and also, I just finished freshman year in college. Huh, I'd LOVE to be done completely with the workload it gives.

Mbradford: Wow, I'm flattered that I'm motivating another to write! Thanks! I'm actually doing the same now, after bawling three nights straight over Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, the tragedy at the end has motivated me to get to the less than heinous chapters of this story. Forgive me for leaving this on a bit of a cliffy again. :)

Shlee Verde: "They (Bilbo and Frodo) seriously need help communicating with one another": They don't, don't they?

"Will everyone's favorite Ranger of the North be making an appearance?": If you mean a certain Ranger by the name of Strider, Estel, Aragorn, Duandan, etc., we'll see. If it is, it'll be a minor detail because I think I've got enough character relationships to sort out at this point. :)

On what Strasser and Tony plan to do with Frodo now: Ooh, Shlee Verde, stop anticipating my plot! Hehee.

NarsilC: I'm sorry that you don't like the internal monologues of the characters, NarsilC. I just write the story as the ideas come, and you're right, conciseness is not my stronger writing skill. But one thing that I'm deliberately doing in the story is trying to convey how characters, such as Bilbo and Frodo, both are very confused, and a bit traumatized at this point, and a lot of it has to do with what's happened plot-wise as well as their own character. In order to do that, yes, I tend to mention what Frodo's feeling and how he responds to everything around him often, so that it's not a surprise when he begins to break down.

Chapter 19: Suspicions

Mrs. Gamgee's steps were hesitant as she made her way up the steps to Bag End. Thick weeds had sprouted from the cracks in the stone steps, and the regularly flawless garden was beginning to look like the Old Forest, with its greenery growing wild and vines climbing their way up the side of the hole.

For the hundredth time that day Bell wondered why she was bothering to talk to Bilbo again, knowing what a stubborn hobbit he was. His visit to Sam the day before had confirmed he wasn't ready to face the world again, nor was he planning to make the effort anytime soon. And after everything that had happened, she couldn't blame him. At the same time, she couldn't just sit by and watch things go on like this any longer. It shouldn't be that Bilbo closed himself off to the world, lived in the dark, believing that it was somehow doing justice to Frodo..

'But it can't be so,' she said to herself, 'It couldn't be, and I need to tell him that. At the least, I need to try.'

With a gnawing heart, Bell climbed the last steps and knocked softly on the round door.

No answer came. She knocked again after a few moments, but no one answered. She supposed she shouldn't have expected him to. He had not opened the door to receive his close cousin, Dora Baggins, that morning.

It was not proper for a servant, nor anyone for that matter to come barging into another hobbit's hole. But she needed to talk to him. Tentatively, her hand clasped the door handle and finding it open, entered inside.

A foul odor of rotting fruit forced her to cringe as she first inhaled the air of Bag End. Her eyes took in the layers of dust and overturned furniture. If delicate circumstances were not hanging in the balance of the situation, she would bid him to clean it up this instant, or if he was still unwilling, she would go about it herself.

A fire was burning in the den. Following the sounds of the burning wood, she paused in the doorway to see a cushioned chair turned away from her, and the tip of a curly head at the top.

"Mrs. Gamgee," came a low voice from behind the chair, sounding not at all surprised at her presence.

"Mr. Bilbo," she replied in greeting.

"I hope you haven't come to wring me for my recent failure to keep the hole tidy."

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but it's never been exactly tidy. Though I will say, it has become more a mess," she said, forcing her voice to sound light.

A grunt erupted from behind the chair, and the tension in her throat lessened a little in the hope that it was in fact the suppression of a laugh.

"How are you this mornin', sir?"

"The same," was his gruff reply. He still didn't turn around, and Bell sensed that it would be wrong to face him first.

Sighing, she continued to prod him into speaking in a less than bitter and defensive countenance.

"The same?" she questioned, frowning, "Well, now that's not good...."

"Mrs. Gamgee, I hope you don't expect me to be venturing out the door again, with my chin high and smiling when my nephew's only been gone four days. A hobbit gets more than four days of mourning for their cat."

These words, though not spoken harshly, were still cutting. Mrs. Gamgee waited a few moments before clearing her throat and adding, her tone significantly softer, "No sir, I didn't. Though I confess I had hoped you would have risen from the chair by now and attended to the dishes."

The curly head from behind the chair surprisingly lifted a bit and swivelled around to observe the dished stacked in the kitchen. Bilbo frowned, as though mystified at how they had come to be there. "Oh that," he said, dismissively, and turned around again. "I'll get to it tomorrow."

Bell mustered a huff, desperately trying to keep the conversation light."Well, if you don't attend to it, then I will. If you think I'm goin' to allow this mess, you're wrong," she challenged, and headed into the kitchen.

Finding a few clean cups in the back of one of the cupboards, Bell laid on one and the table and began to boil some water for tea. No noise came from the den as she bustled about the kitchen, cringing at the grime on the tables, so it was a surprise when she turned to see Bilbo standing in the doorway.

"Ah, you're up," she exclaimed, a bit startled. As his tired eyes left hers for a moment, she took in his haggard appearance. He looked just as worn and thinning as the day before, yet to herself, no worse either.

"Bell, you don't have to do this," he murmured. There was resignation in his tone which she found even more alarming than the earlier bitterness. "Don't feel the need to help me."

"Why, isn't it my job sir to look out for you?" she scoffed, no longer able to mask her frustration. "Oh yes, you pride yourself on being such a brave, independent hobbit. But do you not pay Mr. Gamgee his share to look out for you?....well, technically look out for your garden," she corrected when Bilbo opened his mouth in protest. "But you understanding my meanin'."

"Then why isn't Mr. Gamgee here wringing my neck?" he asked, tiredly.

"He would be," she said, and her voice fell further as she thought of her husband, "But he's still a bit reluctant to face you, sir. He thinks himself partially responsible for what happened. That he wasn't a better help."

Bilbo sighed at this news, and leaned wearily against the table. "If that's true, then...then please let Hamfast know that he should carry no burden of guilt. I don't hold any of it to him."

Bell could hear the struggle in his voice, even as he fought to contain it, and she couldn't help but muse on how up until these last few days, the most she had ever seen Mr. Bilbo serious or anything less than cheerful or angry was when he pondered on Mr. Gamgee's suggestion to move the daisies from the front of his flowerbed. He did love those daisies so.

Bilbo looked up to see the exposed expression of pity on Mrs. Gamgee's face, and dropped his head in embarrassment. "Tell Hamfast that he should feel none of it. No one should rot in a hole for this but myself."

"So you intend to spend the rest of your days here, wallowing in your own guilt?" she challenged.

"I don't see how that is an inconvenience to anybody."

Bell sighed in silent aggravation, but still tried to maintain some semblance of calm. Bilbo never listened to her otherwise. "I know you mean well, sir. But you cannot do this. You cannot let yourself....waste away like this," her voice trailed off.

"And why on Middle Earth not?" he inquired, turned around to retrieve his pipe.

"Frodo wouldn't want this," she blurted.

Bilbo's frame shuddered as though an enormous wave of icy water had crashed over him, at the mention of his nephew's name. For a moment he remained frozen in place, and as the wave passed, his shoulders drooped lower than before. He turned to face her with a raw expression.

"What do you suggest I do, Bell?" he asked, accusingly. "Put on a happy face, and go about with my life? What is the point? He.....he's gone."

Mrs. Gamgee swallowed the rising lump in her throat. "I know....and on my word, sir, I didn't come to remind you of that. Just....just don't let the loss of Frodo destroy you too."

"How would I be a true guardian to him if I didn't? I failed him, in every possible way. He was my nephew, he was family. I had an obligation to take care of him. And I adopted him, he was my heir. I was supposed to protect him. And even when I knew this, even when I reminded myself of this even before he was gone, I didn't take it to heart."

"No, you did sir," she promised. "Just, perhaps not as much as was needed."

At this shocking compliment from Mrs. Gamgee, Bilbo closed his burning eyes and buried his face in his hand. He couldn't believe he was actually blubbering in front of Bell like this. she'd taunt him for it later, he was sure. He was grateful that now, though, she simple handed him a handkerchief and said nothing.

Bilbo sighed again as he composed himself. "What can I do anyway, Bell? It's hopeless...those monsters got away, and they took him with them."

"You do know they're conducting a search for them, right?"

"I do," he replied, defensively. "Where do you think they're getting the money for it?"

"And what about yourself?" she couldn't help but ask. "Why didn't you go?"

A moment passed as Bilbo contemplated the question himself. "Well, at first that blasted doctor wouldn't let me go because of the head injury, and by the time I was recovered, the main group had already headed out. Also," and his eyes grew glassy again, "I don't think I could go. You know they're really not searching so much for the men as they are for...for the body..."

Before another tense silence could descend, Mrs. Gamgee continued, "Well, what about the hobbit? Halfred and Hamfast told me that it wasn't the men who plotted Frodo's kidnapping, but a hobbit. Are you doing anything about that?"

Fire suddenly blazed in Bilbo's eyes and Bell nearly backed away at the fury that erupted on her master's face. Yet after a moment it passed, followed by a mounting weariness that seemed to drain more strength from him with every rising emotion. His shoulders bent lower.

"Don't think I have forgotten about him," Bilbo whispered, harshly. "Don't think I haven't spend hours trying to figure out who it was....but I can't. I don't know who was cruel enough to do that to my nephew."

"I can't either, sir. But someone did," she whispered, with identical bewilderment.

Bilbo huffed, shortly, at an after thought. "And I used to imagine that the most dangerous and evil monsters I'd ever had to face, I left in Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains."

Mrs. Gamgee frowned, forcefully. "Oh Mr. Bilbo, don't talk so. I don't know if this was evil so much as greed and cowardice. If it's just this one hobbit, well then he's most likely hiding - "

"- or has simply joined the faceless mass of everyone else," Bilbo finished. "In which case, he could be anybody. For who didn't know about my wealth....I cannot even go to the farthest parts of Michael Delving or the banks of Buckland without receiving peculiar stares."

"You're right, it could be anybody," Bell repeated. "But can you not think of anybody in particular? If anything, it is most likely someone around here," she couldn't help but admit. At Bilbo's inquiring stare, she continued, "Remember, you only adopted Frodo just two months ago. While there was great talk about other things at the time, I doubt that this news was intriguing enough to make it that far. It was most likely someone around here, who knew that you had taken him in and had seen you two together."

Mrs. Gamgee's suggestion immediately cleared away some of the fog of confusion that had hung in Bilbo's mind ever since the exchange, and he felt wild suspicions beginning to penetrate his grief.

He attempted to think of faces, names....let's see, in the past weeks he had passed Fatty Bolger, Hilda Bracegirdle, Petunia Proudfeet, and many others. There were his neighbors, the Hornblowers to his right, and passed the Gamgees there were the Bolgers and the Took clan to his left.......oh, it was hopeless, Bilbo thought, as dozens of names and faces swarmed in his mind at once. In all honest, he didn't even know most of the hobbits he greeted on his morning walks. He couldn't accuse any of them without accusing all of them. Yet he couldn't stop thinking on it now. Ideas suddenly began festering within him, and he felt his mind working at a faster, more significant pace than it had in days.

"I don't know who to judge, Bell," he confessed, "I'm trying to think on who seems greedier than most, and I can't call myself a fair judge. But besides being greedy, this hobbit didn't choose to just kidnap Frodo himself, as he could have done, but hired men to do it. He must have been either too cowardly, or proud to it himself."

"It may be someone who knew you, perhaps, and couldn't be sure if you wouldn't call on them and they'd be caught," Mrs. Gamgee suggested. "As you say, they may be a coward, and didn't want to worry of their reputation, or life, for that matter. As it happened, they gained nothing, but lost nothing either."

Bilbo's eyes continued to dart furiously around the room, his heart racing as he struggled to think of a face...a name. Yet every time he did, he kept remembering waking up after being knocked up, and seeing nothing but a blurry mass of faces above him. There were those that he'd wronged in the past, those that had wronged him, there were the strangers and vague acquaintances whose passing glances could have been mere mockery or suspicion. Oh, he was just getting himself into another tangle. Taking a breath, he decided to just relay the facts again.

"Yes, whoever did this was someone who obviously knew that I had wealth, and knew me well enough to know that it was true and not just gibberish you all think I speak. Maybe I mentioned receiving a reward for my adventure, on telling the story to them, or maybe I have them an expensive gift, I don't know. They also knew I had recently adopted Frodo, and cared deeply enough for the lad to willingly give my fortune for him."

Bilbo paused for a second to catch his breath before continuing, not yet feeling the name creeping upon him.

"It was someone rotten and cold-hearted enough to betray me and the lad, and formulate this horrible plan. It was someone either too miserable or too cowardly to do it themselves, and somebody sneaky enough to deserve to live with the spiders in Mirkwood - "

Bilbo stopped. A cold silence descended the room.

Bell, whose stare lingered upon the floor, sighed in exasperation.

"It could be anybody. But what - " Looking up, she stopped to see that her master's face had frozen, his skin drained of what little color remained.

"Sir, what is it?"

It was so easy...he was so stupid. It had been there all the time. He should have known it the second he'd seen him coming down the hill. And yet even as the truth came upon him, Bilbo felt terror grip him just as strongly as renewed hatred. To know betrayal as this was almost as horrible as not knowing...

"Mr. Bilbo? What is it?" Bell's muddle voice broke through the ringing in his ears.

"I know who it is."

TBC

Aaahh, forgive me for leaving it at that! I was going to continue but I have lost the outline to the rest of the chapter, so how about I leave it at this nasty cliffy. I don't do them often. I'm thinking I need not mention who Bilbo's thinking of though. :)

It almost seems like Bilbo and Bell are having an affair the way I always put them together. I didn't intend to have their relationship be one of the key ones in the story when I started, but it just seemed right to go with it. Oh well (shrug) because SOMEONE had to go and take Bilbo by the ear and tell him to go do something and start to revenge himself for Frodo.

Next chapter entitled "Accusations" and it will be here in less than a week. Guarantee. Have a great day, everyone!


	21. Accusations

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

E-Mail: 

Rating: PG-13 (for violence and mild cursing)

Disclaimer: I own not the characters with the exception of the nasty kidnappers.

Summary: Bad men kidnap Frodo. Bilbo pines. Yeah.

A/N: Greetings everyone!Forgive the delay. I know I said just a week for this, but at this point I think everyone knows that means a week plus a few more days.....weeks....months......later. My bad. Some complications got in the way, and the rest of this chapter proved to be a lot more difficult than I originally thought, though I'm not sure why.

Chapter dedicated to Ubiquitous Pitt. Ubiquitous Pitt will understand why towards the end. :)

Enjoy!

Chloe Amethyst: Hey, Chloe! It's great to hear from you again. I'm glad you like the Bell/Bilbo relationship going on. When I was originally starting this story, I hadn't really given much thought on how some of the characters were going to turn out, at least not until I'd gotten into the story. But Bell, I don't know, she just sort of developed in chapter 6 and after that it seemed she was the best to look out for Bilbo. Most of the characters have developed a lot more than I originally intended, but that's just me, I take on a realist mode of thinking when I write, so just like Dickens, my tree and a minor character and a major character are all described equally. Plus, I don't feel there aren't enough females in LoTR in my opinion, and I needed at least one. And as for the Gamgees as a family, they've sort of developed as you said, the sensible care givers to Bilbo, who's so rash and emotional in this story that he needs someone to keep him steady. Just like Sam does to Frodo in the books. :) Thanks for de review!

Elerrina Kyledove: Greetings, Elerrina! You think you know who it is? Then please by all means ignore this message to you here, and read on! Tis below. :)

endymion: Hi there! No, I don't believe I did receive your e-mail, I'm sorry....on my aol account, I tend to receive dozens of coughporncough e-mail mixed in with legitimate mail, and I often just click on a whole bunch and delete them all. Yours might have been deleted with it, or it just didn't send....I know not......but if it's impt, just re-send, and I'll get back to you. :)

Ubiquitous Pitt: Amen to that - what J.R. Tolkien......ack, I mean Rowling did (I tend to get them mixed up!) was EVIL!!! Am still fuming/bawling at night at the character she took. They were my favorite. And as for the plot, you know, there's always the chance that they might come back, but considering Rowling does approach the 'd' word with a fair degree of maturity, I'd doubt she'd bring them back. But you never know. I'm taking it as this: the next book ain't coming out for three to four years, probably, so I can live in denial in the meantime that they're still around. Not the healthiest way to deal perhaps but it's a step on the grief scale. Okay, there's my own book 5 review in turn.

QTPie-2488: Hey QTPie! I promise that we WILL find out who the hobbit is. Not much longer, I swear. I think that the last chapter, at least at the end, finally picks up the plot again after months and close to six chapter of next to nothing happening, just random miserable hobbits thinking, so here's a chapter with something actually happening, and it's just going to go faster from here....hopefully. :)

Shlee Verde: Shlee Verde! Oh no, the last chapter made you nearly cry?....damn, that last chapter was supposed to be mildly funny....oh dear, I be a failure at humor. Just as a warning, this chapter's supposed to have a bit of humor mixed in as well...I hope it's apparent. If it's not, let me know. And you're right about the Bell being a lot more mature than Bilbo. The way Bilbo's character has developed in my story is that although he's really old, and wise in many different things, he has some learning in some areas, in particular how to deal with a child (ahem, tweenager) full time, and also he goes off when he's emotional, and Bell and the Gamgees are all like an anchor for him to steady himself on. That'll be their greatest job....Bell, in particular....as the story runs along. And Sackville-Bagginses you say? Well, read on! Ooh, and one more thing. Have you still given any thought to continuing your LoTR story? I loved it so much, it was one of the best Merry/Pippin friendship stories I've read. Please keep going with it, there's still so much more to do.....technically, they're still in the forest, there's still orcs after them.... :)

Niphrandl: Aaah! You cried too with the last chapter??!! Damn, I'm just going to resign from attempting dry humor. This one was a mild attempt as well, at least here and there. So you think it be the S.B.'s? Well, read on, we shall see!

Fionarox: Greetings, Fionarox! WHAT?! You think it's MERRY?? LOLOLOLOL!!! Okay, (let me pause for a second to roll on the floor and laugh.....okay, done). No, I promise you that. Though I can't reveal any more than that. It be not Sam Gamgee (someone else's theory) and it's not Merry. Remember, he was at Bilbo's pad when the exchange happened, and surely Frodo or Bilbo would have recognized him. :)

Camellia Gamgee-Took: Hey there! Frodo will be in the chapter after the next one. I think I want to keep the attention on Bilbo for just a little while longer, because after this he's gone some things to do, and then we'll get back to Frodo. I'm bouncing back and forth between the days when writing them, because they don't always remain on the same day, and I want them to be evened out when I get to the...........dundundun..........second exchange. But we'll get more of Frodo I promise. :)

Tavion: Greetings, Tavion! Thank you for coming out of lurking......I love to know there are prying eyes.....hope you like the next chapter! :)

Bookworm2000: Wowow! Could you be comparing that poopy ending of mine to TTT? Wow, am thoroughly flattered. And hope being some random stranger named Estel? 'Right? Maybe?'....you think I'm going to spoil you? Never! :)

Ten minutes later, Bilbo Baggins burst out the door to Bag End and began storming down the road, jerking his arms into his coat sleeves as he went.

Hamfast Gamgee and Halfred trailed behind him. After seeing the rage that had followed horror on Bilbo's face, Mrs. Gamgee had feared he was about to fly out the door with the sword after all, and quickly ran to get Hamfast. Mr. Gamgee was more than willing to assist his master, and left the Inn in charge of his other sons as he and Halfred followed their fuming master.

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but where are we off to?" Hamfast inquired as they began to descend the Hill.

"You'll know soon enough," replied a voice that sounded anything but assuring.

Although Bilbo was moving a remarkably fast pace, Halfred managed to catch up to him and caught a glimpse of him before falling back. On this day, Bilbo looked every one of his years. Whatever was making him so angry though had renewed his strength and vigor, making look something like a fire-breathing ghost. His eyes were still glassy and bloodshot, but were wide and blazing. His face was still pale, but it no longer looked tired. Instead, it was animated and pulsed with a white fury. His disheveled clothing only added to the wildness of his features.

Halfred was not the only one that had noticed. As they passed down the hill, hobbits that were busy working in their gardens or walking down the road stopped short to see Bilbo Baggins had emerged from his home, and continued to watch mouth open as he stormed down the Hill. Though Hamfast and Halfred couldn't help feeling exposed at the eyes upon them, Bilbo payed no mind to it. He continued on, glaring venomously at the road in front of him.

They walked for some time, the sun hot and beaming down upon them. Halfred watched as his father grew weary at the long and arduous walk, and he couldn't help but beg for Bilbo to stop so that his father could rest.

Bilbo seemed agitated to pause even for a moment, but allowed them to sit while he himself stood, still glaring at the land folding out before them. They were nearing a rather busy part of Hobbiton that lay on the unmarked border between there and the land called Michael Delving.

Once Hamfast was ready to continue, they passed through a small market, and then down a road composed of a series of hobbit holes groups close together. Compared to the Hill, which was one of the more wealthy parts of Hobbiton, these holes were far smaller than the ones on the Hill, and the gardens around them, if there were any (many merely had grass growing) were very unkempt.

For the life of him, Halfred could not understand why his peculiar master would be coming here.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but are we visit' somebody?" he couldn't help asking.

"What's that, Halfred?" Bilbo asked, swiveling his head around for a moment. His tone was pleasant but laced with sarcasm. "Where are we destined? Oh, no place in particular. We're just going to confront the hobbits responsible for hiring the men who kidnapped my nephew."

At hearing this, both Mr. Gamgee and Halfred nearly stumbled over their own feet in shock.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Mr. Gamgee bellowed.

Bilbo spun around to face them while his feet continued to carry him backwards. He nodded, his face white and hard with fury. "That's right....leave it to me to figure it out a week longer than I should've, when they had just been sitting in my hole the very day Frodo was taken."

Halfred and Hamfast exchanged looks of confusion before catching up to Bilbo, who had resumed his rapid pace and was now muttering furiously to himself.

Fragments of their last conversation whispered through Bilbo's mind:

'I have recently switched my affection to a nephew whom I am very fond of.'

'You - you vile creature! I know for certain you sold your utter soul to the elves for those riches.'

Bilbo pressed a hand to his heart in an attempt to slow his ragged breathing. They knew he had money. And right then and there, though he had not known it, he had exposed his love for the child that had just been bestowed what was formerly their inheritance.

"So stupid," Bilbo hissed aloud. "I was so, so stupid!"

"Oh, come now sir," Hamfast began, yet his words were soon lost as Bilbo began spewing curses so numerous and horrible that Hamfast placed his hands over Halfred's ears. To his bewilderment, Bilbo's curses occasionally drifted into another tongue, and then Hamfast would begin to lift his hands from Halfred's ears before they returned to common tongue once again.

Both exchanged worried glances, not knowing who or what was making their master so furious. Yet at seeing the pace he was going, and the unutterable words he was spewing, they began to doubt Bilbo had brought his cane, now clenched in a sweaty, white-knuckled fist, for the sake of aiding him in his walk.

Hurriedly, Hamfast rushed forward and placed a steady hand on Bilbo's shoulder.

"Now jus' wait a minute sir, before you go stormin' through someone's door. Speak plain first. Who is it?"

"Need I be any more plain, Hamfast?" Bilbo exclaimed. "It was so obvious. I should kick myself for not realizing it sooner." Hamfast stared at him as blankly as he himself had been that morning. "The Sackville-Bagginses," he finished.

Both went aback slightly at the name. Though they were not acquainted with the Sackville-Bagginses themselves (the Sackville-Bagginses never associated with anyone that was of a lower class than them), they had certainly heard stories from Bilbo, and knew the hostility between them.

"Are you absolutely sure, sir?" Hamfast asked, though he asked more out of caution than doubt.

In fact, as he thought on it, Bilbo was probably right. He should've suspected it himself. But it was no matter now. What worried Hamfast the most at the moment was what might become of Bilbo if he confronted the Sackville Bagginses, or anyone for that matter, in his present state of rage. Especially with a weapon in his trembling hand.

"Now wait, hold on sir!" Hamfast protested, and once again attempted to restrain his master from continuing any further.

"Why do you hold me back, Hamfast?" Bilbo demanded.

"Jus...just hold on. Think on this before you go makin' accusations and confrontin' them face to face. For even if you're right....and I don't doubt you are....don't do somethin' terribly rash, and get yourself on the wrong side of the law yourself. If you do, you might end up in a worse place than the guilty hobbit. And what justice would that be?"

This sounded sensible enough even with Hamfast's belabored breathing , and Bilbo slowed in his tracks as he took in what Hamfast had said. It was true, in his tantrum of fury and betrayal he had not considered what an outburst on Lobelia and Otho might prove in the long run. No doubt they'd been running to fetch their lawyers before he could even remember the name of his.

"You........you're right, Hamfast," he said, dragging a hand over his face. "But I can't just sit any longer. By the Shire, I've done enough of that recently...."

"I know that sir. I'm not sayin' don't do nothin' about this, that would be worse. But let me or let Halfred get Shiriff Proudfeet to see this out. He's probably about someplace, and he can hear the confession, if you manage to get one outta him."

"That's a good idea, Hamfast," Bilbo said, and turned to Halfred. "Halfred, go to the market immediately and see if you can find Shiriff Proudfeet. No doubt you won't need to relay much to him to know what's going on," he added, grimly.

Halfred nodded and took off in the direction of the market.

In the history of hobbits, there had never been a desperate need for government when it came to enforcing laws. Hobbits typically went about their own business on their own land. Any disputes over territory or quarrels of a varied kind rarely required the presence of a law enforcer, and was usually settled between those in conflict.

For peace's sake, however, a mayor was elected every seven years and he was responsible for appointing twelve hobbits, known as shirrifs, who dealt with the order in the land when it was necessary. Most of their time was spent at the markets, the best known area of activity, which is why Bilbo had no doubt that they would find Shiriff Proudfeet there.

At long last, Bilbo and Hamfast reached the road where the Sackville-Bagginses lived.

"Are ye sure about this, sir?" Mr. Gamgee offered one last word of caution.

"I'm sure, Hamfast."

Suddenly, Bilbo halted in his tracks. In a hole not far from them, a great heap of furniturewas stacked in the road, effectively blocking further travel. From the looks of the towering couches, tables, and chests piled on one another, it appeared as though someone were moving out.....or leaving, however conspicuously.

"Is that their hole, sir?"

"It is." Bilbo's teeth ground together as he spoke.

"Well, Master Baggins!" a surprisingly cheerful voice greeted them. As they turned, a curly haired, red-cheeked hobbit approached from his small garden, leaning over his fence. "What brings ye to this edge of Hobbiton? I don't reckon I've seen ye in years!"

"What's going on over there?" Bilbo questioned, gesturing to the mess of furniture.

"Oh, you mean Lobelia and Otho?" the hobbit asked, giving a sideways glance at his neighbors. "I hear they're packin' up and going to Michael Delving. They've been havin' some troubles recently, and have finally decided to move out."

"What sort of trouble?" Bilbo asked, his eyes narrowing.

"I don't rightly know, sir. To be honest, I'm not on too friendly terms with 'em. They're not the friendliest folk. Though," he added, and his face seemed to grow nervous as he misinterpreted Bilbo's grin, "I'd really appreciate it if you didn't mention I said that about 'em. Well anyway, I hear they've been havin' some financial troubles and can't afford the hole anymore. I hear they're goin' to live with relatives in Michael Delving," he added, before moving off.

Bilbo's blood went cold as he took in the hobbit's words. "Financial troubles my foot," he muttered.

Taking a deep breath, he followed Hamfast's advice and tried not to let his anger get the best of him as he approached their home.

The door to the hole was hanging open. Upon entering, Bilbo immediately heard raised voices from the back of Lobelia and Otho bickering. It had been several years since he had been there. As his eyes traveled over the rather cramped space, he could see that time had dulled the walls and aged the already shabby furniture.

His momentary observations were broken by the sound of Lobelia's all too familiar screechy voice.

"Give me that vase, Otho! Don't you dare think about selling it, it's mine! Give it...don't touch it with your filthy hands!"

"I paid for the damn thing, Lobelia...........oh, shut it, why are you wanting to waste wagon space with a stupid vase when you detest flowers?!"

Lobelia huffed. "Oh, well, then you can just toss out your stupid fishing tackle then too. Why keep it? It's been years since you've ever managed to catch a fish – "

Bilbo desperately bit his lip, suppressing laughter. This was ridiculous. He was coming here to accuse them of the terrible crimes they'd committed against his dear nephew, yet how was he supposed to manage that with them ready to tear each other's throats out? And Lobelia always used to tell him that she and Otho got along splendidly.....

Before his fury ebbed any further, he entered the hallway and made himself visible in the doorway.

"Why, what'er you doing here, Bilbo?" Lobelia asked, sourly.

Bilbo bit the insides of his lips in an attempt to fight off the grin at seeing her seated in the middle of the room, clutching the vase with other random pieces of furniture strewn about her.

"Yes, Bilbo, what's the purpose of this sudden call?" said Otho. Although he had always been the more evasive of the two, he still eyed Bilbo with amusement. "Aren't you supposed to be locked up in your cozy Bag End right now, pouring your eyes out? That's the latest that reached us, anyway."

"Where's my nephew?" Bilbo asked, cooly and to the point.

Both stopped what they were doing to stare at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lobelia demanded.

"Don't deny it," Bilbo sneered, surprised that he was able to control himself thus far. "Shiriff Proudfeet is already on his way to do whatever the Shire law supposes justifiable to you. Though I don't believe they'll come up with a good enough punishment. Exile at the worst. Personally, I think pitching you in Mirkwood Forest would do better." Lobelia's glassy eyes widened, and she made a motion to get up from her chair, but Bilbo continued. "Where's Frodo? Or no, where's the men who you sent to kidnap him?"

Vague, suspicious stares from the both of them suddenly erupted into fury.

"Why you, worthless piece of pig dung!" Lobelia spat. "You think we had anything to do with that Brandybuck's kidnapping?"

Anger began to rise dangerously to the surface again, and Bilbo felt the hand clutching his cane shooting up to meet right between her eyes. She spluttered and twisted in her chair.

"Don't make me any more mad than I already am, Lobelia," Bilbo said, darkly. "And oh yes, I am mad. And these past days have made me more so...so don't try and weasel your way out of this, or I might lose myself beyond control and become that crazy beast you always repute me."

Otho sighed from across the room, and shook his head as though finding the entire scene tiresome.

"Bilbo you're cracked beyond recognition already if you think we'd have anything to do with that Brandybuck brat – "

So much for restraint. Dropping his cane, Bilbo seized Otho by his collar and slammed him into the wall with a force more violent than either anticipated.

"You selfish, cold-hearted –—– !" Lobelia blushed at Bilbo's language, which at the moment surpassed hers in foulness. "You were the one who got those men to kidnap Frodo, didn't you?" he demanded.

Otho attempted to say something, and Bilbo gripped him harder. "DIDN'T YOU!"

In nearly the same moment, many things happened. Hamfast rushed forward to break Bilbo's hands away. Once freed, Otho immediately scurried away, while Lobelia continued to scream at the top of her lungs and attack Bilbo with a spare umbrella. Soon after, Halfred rushed into the room, terribly out of breath and collapsed against the wall as Shiriff Proudfeet followed on his heels, immediately taking in the scene with a frown.

"What's this about?" he demanded.

Everyone in the room struggled to catch their breath. Recovering first, Bilbo stood and faced Shiriff Proudfeet. Although he was one of this shiriffs, he had the appearance of any other hobbit with curly hair and bright colored clothes. The only thing that really distinguished him as a shiriff was the feather in his hat. Bilbo was relieved that he was here. Now, finally, some of this might get settled.

"Sir," he began, respectfully, "from the speed at which news travels in this glorious land, I doubt I need to relay to you the history of how my nephew was recently kidnapped from me for ransom."

"Yes, I've heard it, Bilbo," Shiriff Proudfeet replied, giving Bilbo a short, sympathetic smile. "But what has that got to do with you going about attacking your relatives?"

Bilbo was prepared to answer when something caught his eye to the side of him. Turning, he inwardly groaned to see that all the screams and racket had stirred the attention of those outside. Now there were gathering pairs of eyes outside the two small windows, and more seemed to be listening from behind the door. He had hoped this meeting would be short, and certainly private. Yet thinking on it, he realized he didn't care. Let Shiriff Proudfeet hear what he had to say. Let them all.

Standing up fully, Bilbo pointed his cane at Lobelia and Otho, who had both slunk away to the middle of the room. "Well, as I said, my nephew was kidnapped. I believe that it was they who did it."

Gasps erupted and carried like a storm from the growing crowd, and Bilbo felt satisfaction course through him to see the eyes from the windows narrow suspiciously at the pair. In spite of everything, it felt good to see others listening to him, others believing him. He was finally doing something for Frodo, some of this mess was finally going to be resolved, even if other parts never would.

"Now hold on a moment, Bilbo," the shiriff said, sternly, as he tried unsuccessfully to close and latch the windows. "What makes you think that they anything to do with your nephew's kidnapping?"

"These two aided in kidnapping my nephew," Bilbo repeated, and pointed his stick at them once again.

Panicked, Lobelia scurried behind Otho like a frightened animal. Gasps continued to erupt from the crowd, and fingers stuck through the windows, pointing at them in accusation.

Shiriff Proudfeet was less dramatic in his reaction.

"I still don't understand, Bilbo. Forgive me if I've been misinformed, but I was told that it was not hobbits, but men from the south who were responsible for kidnapping your nephew."

Bilbo couldn't hide a huff of astonishment. It was hard to believe the way the entire Shire seemed to be gathered around the hole right now that all the details were unknown. And this...what was this, why was Shiriff Proudfeet defending them?

'He doesn't know everything,' Bilbo reminded himself.

Taking a deep breath, seeing everyone was waiting for him to speak, Bilbo dove into an account of what had happened. He began with the morning Frodo had left to meet Merry, and how he had informed Lobelia and Otho that same afternoon that he was switching his inheritance from them to his nephew. When Bilbo described what their reactions had been, faces went dark with suspicion around him. As he continued, it grew more difficult having to recollect personal moments he did not want to have to say in front of everybody. Walking into Frodo's room to find it empty....the four day long search....Frodo's letter and the ransom instructions.....

Bilbo was surprised that he was able to keep his voice so hard and commanding, considering he'd barely used it in days. When he reached the part about the exchange, however, and describing the brutality of the men, making Frodo scream to prove that he was actually there, Bilbo's voice broke a little. He quickly got it under to control so that he could describe what happened when the hobbit arrived. The man himself had exposed him as the one had originally planned this, and the hobbit gloated over it himself.

By the time Bilbo reached the end of the story, when he had awoken after the man had knocked him unconscious, and the men, the hobbit and Frodo were gone, those in the room and those peeping in from outside were shocked silent. Throughout his account, Bilbo was able to hear gasps and occasional sniffs from those that were listening. While he was surprised how much sympathy his story had conjured from those who apparently hated his stories, the only one he really needed to convince was the shiriff.

Shiriff Proudfeet had listened intently as Bilbo had spoken, yet even now he did not look convinced when it came to Lobelia and Otho's involvement.

"Now you say that the hobbit and you exchanged words that night," he said, sternly.

"He did, yes."

"What did their voice sound like?"

Bilbo recalled the voice, painfully. 'Greetings to you, ol' Bilbo Baggins! Just taking a share of some o' yer lavish wealth that you're not generouse enough to pass around.'

"The voice sounded...puny, actually," he admitted. "And screechy. But he may have been faking it to disguise his own, especially if it was someone I already knew."

"Puny and screechy," Proudfeet repeated, and nodded as though that made some profound sense. "Well, then" he added, and gestured to Otho. "It couldn't have been him. For Otho's has a grown hobbit's voice, and it's very deep, not screechy, nor puny. Are you sure it was a male voice you heard?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure that it was just one hobbit who planned this?"

"It appeared so," Bilbo said, anxiously, "But I'm not saying it was necessarily Otho. For all I know, it could've been Lotho."

"You dog...don't you dare bring our precious boy into your mad tales," Lobelia spluttered, hands still gripping her vase.

"Precious, indeed," Bilbo snorted. He recalled how the lad had a habit of 'accidentally' breaking something of his every time he came to Bag End, no doubt a habit encouraged by his mother.

"Lotho's got no more to do with this than we do, Bilbo. And if you need proof," Otho added, defensively, "Inquire for him at his Uncle Odo's in Michael Delving, where he's been this last month. A bit of a journey it would be from there to Hobbiton and back, wouldn't you say?"

"But," Bilbo protested, his voice growing more frustrated as he saw faces turn reluctantly doubtful, "There's no particular time when he may have gone to recruit these men. For all I know it might have been weeks ago that this was planned, months even."

"That may be true," Shiriff Proudfeet replied. "But whomever it was, the fact remains that they were there in the forest near Tuckborough on the night of the exchange. Therefore, it could not have been Lotho because he was in Michael Delving as his parents claim, and Lobelia and Otho were here."

"Well, they could've hired somebody else!" Bilbo protested, but stopped himself from continuing when he realized how ridiculous his accusations were becoming.

Lobelia scowled at him from behind Otho. "Oh yes, Bilbo, we hired a random hobbit on loan to go hire some random men to kidnap your nephew. Yes, that makes a lot of sense."

"I hope I become this clever in my old age," snorted Otho.

Bilbo could feel his cheeks burning, and he wanted nothing more than to shout something intelligent and accusing back. Yet a doubt was beginning to weigh down his anger as he considered that there might truly be nothing behind their scowls and insults but the same anger and jealousy they'd always harbored for him....and nothing more.

"Well," he demanded, not ready to accept that they were innocent until he'd covered all corners of suspicions. "What is Lotho doing in Michael Delving in the first place?"

Lobelia scowled, and when she didn't speak Bilbo felt his hope lift again that they were hiding something.

"Bilbo, you're unforgivable," Otho finally sneered. "Lotho's going to work there in his uncle's shop. He doesn't have a choice now, considering some unnamed relative of his disowned him of the inheritance that had been his and gave it to a distant cousin."

All eyes immediately went to Bilbo, and he suddenly found himself the one on the spot.

"Yes, Bilbo I was wondering that myself," said a random voice from outside, "Why'd you switch inheritance?"

"Why adopt him?" came another

"Put him in danger, you did...." muttered another.

Bilbo felt color return to his face. Through a rising tide of voices he heard Lobelia say, "Yes, was not some way to spite us yet again? Use the boy to get to us, why else would you give him everything?"

"BECAUSE HE HAD NOTHING!" Bilbo exploded. Silence descended again, and rung in the air as everyone looked at him, expectant to say more. "Do.....don't you understanding?" he rasped, looking around. "He had absolutely nothing. He was so young, and already he had lost both his parents and spent the last nine years being passed around in Brandy Hall like an extra coat with no one to really take care of him...with nowhere to go when he was older...."

Eyes continued to stare at him, and he huffed, raising his arms mockingly in the air. "Forgive me for not anticipating the unimaginable happening when I decided to take him in. Forgive me for hoping it would give him a better future. But then," he couldn't help adding, bitingly, and his eyes went to those watching, "How would anyone here know what a wonderful lad he was. You turned your nose away from him as much as you did me."

Faces of hobbits he vaguely knew, and didn't, lowered slightly, and some disappeared from the window. But Bilbo gave no more thought to them. His quarrel wasn't really with them.

Instead, his cane rose again to Lobelia and Otho. "And you two worst of all...you were his relatives, and yet you hated him from the first instant. You didn't even meet him before you decided to do this. Did you even see him before you dropped him in the clutches of monsters?" he accused, his eyes slits.

"Bilbo, I must ask," Shiriff Proudfeet interrupted before whispers began to rise. "Why are you just now saying this? The letter, the exchange, it all happened nearly a week ago....if you're so sure it's them, what took so long to say this?"

Fresh humiliation burned inside him. He'd hoped that he would be able to avoid admitting that he had not figured it out until that morning. Before he could, Halfred, who had stood aside with his father the entire time, suddenly spoke up.

"Why, he's been overcome with grief, sir! He's had barely enough to strength to leave Bag End, an' he's been wrapped up in the loss he's felt for his nephew. I say it's better to think of that than the worthless scum who did this to him."

Bilbo could feel his face burning at those words. He had not wanted those details to be revealed, especially not to an open crowd....and yet, as his eyes lifted a bit, he saw that hobbits were gasping and a few even sent him tear-filled looks of pity. To his satisfaction, the attention went back to Otho and Lobelia, who was now shrinking in her chair at the dark looks she was receiving.

In spit of everything, Shiriff Proudfeet was not convinced. "No one doubts your affection for the lad, Bilbo," he said, his tone surprisingly soft. "But the fact remains that you think Lobelia and Otho are responsible for Frodo's kidnapping....but I don't think so."

Bilbo's gasp of shock was lost in everyone else's, including Lobelia and Otho's.

"On what evidence?" Bilbo exclaimed.

"On the lack of yours," he replied, simply.

"How so?"

"Because of this: although the Sackville-Bagginses did have the motives for the crime you accuse them of, they did not have the opportunity. For as they claim, Lotho has been at his uncle's in Michael Delving these last three weeks. Lobelia and Otho have not gone any journeys or been seen anywhere else in the Shire these last weeks. And as for the night you spoke, when the exchange occurred, I can testify myself that Otho anyway was at the local pub. I saw him lose quite badly in a game of cards there, and then stomp off in the late hours of the night. Because of this, I think we can safely say that none of the Sackville-Bagginses could have possibly been the one that was present before you on the night of the exchange."

Whispers, now extremely annoying to Bilbo's ears, began to buzz loudly. He couldn't believe it....he still couldn't. Turning to face them, he saw that they were scowling at him still, as was their nature, yet they seemed relieved nonetheless.

Bilbo swallowed with difficulty. It couldn't be...who else would do something like this but them?

"If you did not do this," he asked, his voice rough, "Then why are you moving, if not for the purpose of avoiding me?"

"You're such a self-centered pig," Lobelia hissed, and Bilbo gladly returned the scowl. "We've decided to move to Michael Delving to be with Lotho, since he works there now. Besides, if we had reason to leave because of you, don't you think we would've left a little sooner, not knowing it would take you four days to get here?"

Giggles erupted from a few, and Bilbo fumed so greatly that his chest palpitated with rage. He would have charged at her if the truth hadn't descended on him like a cold block of ice....they weren't the ones. Otho had not been the masked hobbit he had seen in the forest that night.

With the excitement seemingly finished, the faces slowly began to move away from the window. Shiriff Proudfeet made a quiet retreat, and Lobelia and Otho both shot Bilbo and Hamfast looks to 'go away.'

'But it's not done!' Bilbo thought, furiously, even as Hamfast began to lead him gently away. 'It's not finished. If it wasn't them....then it was someone else....' Stepping outside, Bilbo looked up to see the retreating hobbits as well as those remaining behind to watch him. 'It could be anybody.'

"Next time, decide to recite your crazy stories elsewhere, Bilbo," Otho called back, but he didn't answer.

As Bilbo walked past the crowd of hobbits, he felt like a greater failure than when he'd first entered. At least then he had thought he could have avenged Frodo a little bit...

Unknown to himself, those that watched him leave had been very moved by his attempt, however unsuccessful, of avenging his beloved nephew.

Whispers continued to follow him as he walked away, and he felt his palms began to itch in agitation. He didn't want to hear them right now, he'd had enough, and as he continued to walk the desire to be alone enveloped him like a suffocating blanket.

Then he remembered, as he fiddled with his vest pocket, that he had his ring. He always pocketed it when he went out, but it had been a long time since he had felt the urge to use it...until now. The desire strengthened as he thought of putting it on, and before he knew it his feet were breaking away from the crowd.

Bilbo quickly informed Hamfast and Halfred that he would head home on his own, and then walked away down a side path until he was sure that he was alone. Looking around to make sure that no one was watching, he retrieved the gold ring from his pocket, and put it on.

It felt better having it on at the moment. There was no longer a worry of hobbits glancing at him as he returned to the road and continued the walk home, and he didn't hear muttering behind his ear. It was as though he could pass out of existence whenever he wanted, and in that moment there was never a great relief to do so.

Bilbo closed his eyes for a moment and expelled a long, tired sigh.

It had been a while since he'd worn it...months in fact, since before Frodo came. Once the lad had moved in, Bilbo refrained from using it, just in case he didn't scare the child. He didn't know why he hadn't ever told Frodo about it. But Frodo was gone now, so it would not longer be a worry.

The Shire was quiet as he passed down the road towards home. The evening had come and gone, and now the sky was a pallet of dark blue shades above him.

By the time he was within a mile from home, the fury that had restored the energy and life into him throughout the day began to ebb some. Weariness began to seep into his limbs again, though not nearly as badly as before. Whether he would have been able to stop it or not, today had broken him out of the stupor he'd been in and he couldn't just go back to sitting in front of his fire now. Too much had happened. And although he was still grieving, he felt drained somehow of at least some doubts, and it felt good to be outside again, to be going somewhere.

Walking along the side of the hill, the road ran nearly straight. As Bilbo stared at it before him, he began to wonder for the first time since the exchange what he should do with himself now....where did his future lie?

Just a few months ago he had made a decision to take Frodo in, which had altered his entire future. But that future, in all its advantages and prior inconveniences, had now been ripped away from him. He no longer had someone to take care of, nor was he bound by obligations.

Even as he thought on this, Bilbo's eyes unconsciously lifted to the Misty Mountains far off in the distance. They looked like nothing more than little white peaks against the purpling sky.

'Should I just leave now?' he wondered to himself.

With his feet continuing to lead him down the road, the mountains far off in the distance before him, it felt as though he had already began making his journey there.

TBC

Ubiquitous Pitt: THERE YOU GO! THERE'S THE RING!! HEHEE, I know you've been waiting for it. :)

See? It's there....and I deliberately haven't mentioned it until now, and I hope I gave good enough explanation as to why. It really didn't have a presence beforehand but believe me when I say it's going to have significance now.

Ack......this turned out far too serious. This was supposed to be a funny chapter. Oh dear........too late now. Anyway, next chapter not so intense. At least I'm say that. Who knows what it will actually turn out to be. But next chapter contains what Bilbo finds when he comes home.

Thanks to everyone who reviews, those that are occasional and those that are constant. If not for you, I probably wouldn't have gotten this far with the fic. So, in effort to help me along, please review and let me know what you think! It shall further push me on to get to better times with the story. I swear it doesn't have an ending that reads: "My life is miserable" and everyone dies. I promise. :)

Next chapter title: A Burglar's Plan. Heheheee!!!


	22. A Burglar's Plan

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

E-Mail: 

Disclaimer: I own not Frodo, Bilbo, Middle-Earth, etc. I merely possess the nasty kidnappers.

Rating: PG-13

A/N: Hmm........don't think I have anything especially interesting to say for an author's note today.

Chloe Amethyst: 'Oh dear, I have to wait two more chapters for more Frodo?': Well, no, not anymore. Frodo's in the next chapter. Did I say two chapters more last chapter? Ack, sorry my bad. Also, I'm glad you liked the nosy hobbits. It just seemed so right to add them in there, considering the story is partially about gossip and public opinion, and what a better time for gossip and public opinion to go wild than at Lobelia and Otho's 'trial.'

Fionarox: Thank you for such a thoughtful review, Fionarox. (blushes crimson) I luv your Lobelia impression. It's so much fun impersonating evil people. I suppose that's why I loved writing the last chapter, both her and Otho are such fun 'sort of' villains to write. And how many chapters, you ask, do I intend to write for this story? Well, I've spliced several chapter for time's sake (ex. Suspicions and Accusations were originally just one chapter) but I've got the whole story outlined and if I don't splice anymore I'm estimating at least 35 chpts, but I can almost guarantee it will be more. There's kind of a TON of conflicts, characters, etc. to resolve and that'll take some time. And no Legolas in the story (sorry, if you happen to be an Orlando fan :). As for your other suspicions, I say not a word. Heehee! Thanks again for the awesome review, love ya!

Budgielover: "You can't allow him to start an Adventure - he has to rescue Frodo, and then offer lots of comfort to ease his (and our) sorrow-wrung hearts": Yes ma'am! (Salutes) That really would suck if Bilbo just happened to pass through Bree on his way to Rivendell, while Frodo's stuck up in that attic, wouldn't it? Good thing I not that evil. Hehee! Thanks for the set of reviews, I was wondering where you'd gone! :)

MBradford: "Who else knows what they know about Bilbo's wealth and about Frodo?": Hey Mbradford! That's exactly what I was thinking when I started the story and selected the 'traitor hobbit.' When they are revealed (and I promise it's not much longer) I hope it'll explain why I've been adding all these bits about hobbit gossip, and getting the general public involved so much in the storyline. (pants while struggling to get to that chapter!)

Endymion: "Why didn't he sneak back and spy on the Sackville-Bagginses, just to be sure?": Well....Bilbo be not so clever as you that day. :)

Ubiquitous Pitt: Holy Jesus! (Covers Bilbo from Ubiquitous Pitt's impending blows) Don't kick at poor Bilbo! It's my fault about the ring....I mean on one hand, he could've used it in the first exchange but then I would've missed writing all those god-awful miserable chapters, which seemed necessary for the storyline's sake. What a wonderful title for Bilbo: Bilbo the Smart Ass. Couldn't agree more. He did act a bit like an ss storming his story in front of all the Shire. But that's just Bilbo, I write him very rash and emotional in this story. So you're campaigning for Tony to be put on parole at the end of this, eh? Excellent visual there with the Route 66 and the lemonade stand....it's quite an intriguing idea....we'll see. :)

Bookworm2000: "I had my doubts it was the Sackville-Bagginses. I mean, accusing them is like accusing Boromir of stealing the ring.": LOL!!! Brilliant analogy there, Bookworm! So you too spoiled yourself while reading LoTR by bouncing ahead?! Join the club! I regret this now, but I had the stupidity to purchase TTT while only in the beginning chapters of FoTR, and of course couldn't resist peeking to the last page to read that Frodo is betrayed by Gollum and is taken captive. Sort of completely disappointed TTT in the Sam, Frodo, Gollum storyline because there was no suspense, I knew Gollum would betray 'em in the end. Dumbass me. And indeed, there be benefits to being the oldest. Keep listing 'em!

Tavion: "They (Frodo and Bilbo) are going to have some serious issues after this is resolved": Hey Tavion! And AMEN to your quote. Yep, I'm estimating that for ever miserable, gut-wrenching chapter I've written thus far I'm going to need an equal amount to make up for it. I'm glad you liked the nosy hobbits, as I was saying to Chloe Amethyst above, I just had to incorporate them into this chapter, when suspicions are running high and Bilbo really has no idea who to trust and who not to. And last but no least, here be some ice for the bottom if in fact you do fall off your chair in this chapter. :)

Iorhael: Hey Iorhael! Not at all about the reviews, thanks for letting me know you're still reading! Frodo be back next chapter I promise. I miss writing the little squirt myself.

Jedi Master Calriel: "I'm very torn over what to believe so you better clarify the truth soon!": It's in the works, I promise. Do not fear. Traitor hobbit bstard will be revealed. "Secondly, when is Frodo going to be returned to Bilbo?!": I know the story's dragged thus far. I promise it will not be much longer. Thank you for reviewing! It's always wonderful to know someone's reading that has not revealed themselves thus far. :)

Midgette: "No Frodo?": Coming up in next chapter, I swear!

Shire hobbit: "So...who is it then?": All will be revealed in good time, my pretty! (Sorry I just felt like sounding like the wicked witch of the west there for a second). "And will Bilbo find at home?": Answers be revealed right below. "And what's happening to Frodo?": Answer be revealed next chapter. :)

Chaos: Guten Tag, Chaos! Ich habe ein B fur meine Deutsch Klasse gegeben! Oh, i must take in english. Shows what I learned in german this year (grumbles). I got a B for an average! And after 5 yrs of learning? I feel stupid. I bow down to you, german is the most difficult language in the world. Be glad you can speak it fluently. :)

Shlee Verde: GET TO THE BOTTOM OF THE PAGE!! I'll have something to say to you AFTER this chapter......(grins)......don't be nervous..........be rather proud of yourself at the end.....but read chapter first! :)

It was nearing midnight when Bilbo climbed the steps to Bag End. His legs ached from recent disuse and then sprinting across the Shire. His throat was also parched from the long walk, and he decided to prepare himself a hot cup of tea before going to bed. It had been a long day.

Pausing outside the door, Bilbo took a moment to crane his head and survey the sky above him. It was an exceptionally clear night. All the stars in the sky seemed to be twinkling merrily.

It have been comfortingly familiar walking home at night. In the past, when he would be struck by a bout of writer's block and needed to clear his head, or plain restlessness would set in, it would be refreshing to take a late night stroll.

It was breathtaking how the Shire transformed at night to a luminous, almost magical land. At least it seemed so on a night like this, with the Shire's rolling hills draped in navy-colored shadows and the moon illuminating the flowers and trees in a pale light.

Bilbo sighed, nostalgically. If he were to leave and live another 99 years, he would never be able to forget a place as beautiful as this, even if he would never feel as though he were a part of it again.

Sighing again, Bilbo turned and opened the door. It was dark inside, and he immediately went about lighting a few stray candles in the hallway. He usually didn't leave all the candles unlit when he went out, but he had left in such a hurry he must've forgotten.

'Tea, then bed,' he said to himself , removing his coat and draping it over a nearby chair. As he did, his gaze drifted across the floor and stopped to see a piece of paper curiously lying there. It was close to the door, as though someone had perhaps slipped it under.

Frowning, Bilbo bent down to retrieve it. Upon closer inspection he saw that it was a weather-beaten envelope. On the bottom a message was scrawled:

'Bilbo Baggins,

This letter ended up in my mailbox yesterday. Since I was passing through Hobbiton to visit Stella Bolger, I decided to deliver it to you on the way.

Sincerely, Angelica Hardbottle

'Probably sympathy mail from Dora,' Bilbo figured, grimly, and tore the envelope open.

It was difficult to read in the dim candle light, and he was forced to squint as he surveyed the greeting:

'Dear Uncle,'

"UNCLE?!"

Bilbo felt his breath knocked out of him like he'd been hit with a shovel. With eyes looking as though they were prepared to leap out of their sockets, Bilbo roamed the next line.

'I'm alive, Uncle. The kidnappers still have me, and they are refusing to let me go until you give them your treasure.'

The ground was swiftly rising up to me him. Bilbo just managed to grip onto a nearby set of drawers and slide himself into a chair before his legs failed him completely.

He had to stop before reading any more. If he didn't, he was going to pass out from his desperate, choking breaths and his head spinning like a maddening clay top.

He couldn't believe it. This....this just wasn't possible, not after everything that he'd been through. It felt as though the window of hope, which everyone has inside of them, had shrunken to such a small size inside of him that anything this enormous wouldn't ever be able to penetrate it again, even if were now tapping on the glass.

Or in this case, crashing through.

A moment passed. Then another. And slowly, but effectively, the truth began to break through all his barriers of caution and despair, and Bilbo felt the numbness that had overcome him since Frodo's 'death' break down, allowing emotion to flood in.

Yet how was it possible? How could life suddenly pull him out of despair and hand him a second chance as blessed as this?

Bilbo looked down at the letter resting on his lap and started reading it again with wet, assessing eyes.

'Dear Uncle,

I'm alive.'

"Alive," Bilbo repeated to himself, over and over and over.

He was alive. Frodo. was. alive. The ruffians were not as ruthless as he had assumed – or rather they were so ruthless, that in spite of what had happened they were unwilling to give up.

But either way, the message was clear. They wanted just what he did: a fair exchange.

His heart pounding, Bilbo pursued the letter further.

'Uncle,' Bilbo stopped again.

He knew that he had to read on, but his eyes locked themselves around that one word that he'd been certain he would never hear again and refused to withdraw. He could just hear Frodo's voice....tired, weak, pleading....through that jerky-written word.

'Why didn't you give them the money, uncle?' Frodo continued. 'They don't understand why you didn't go through with the exchange. Don't you want me back, uncle? Was it something I did?'

"By the Shire, Frodo, no," Bilbo whispered, hoarsely. His hands began to shake as he held the paper.

Frodo went on to explain that kidnappers were furious, but they were willing to spare his life a little longer to give Bilbo one last chance to relinquish his treasure so that 'everyone got what they wanted.' Near the bottom, a date was written....tomorrow night....and the location was the same as before, the woods on the edge of Tuckborough.

At the very bottom of the page a distinct warning was written by another hand: 'Come alone. We'll be watching to make sure you do.'

"Sure you will," Bilbo growled, furiously. It took an extreme amount of effort to resist crunching up the paper in his fist at that final threat, until his gaze wandered to the beginning once more.

'Dear Uncle,

I'm alive.'

Bilbo couldn't help but absorb those words for all they were worth. He was alive. Frodo...his beloved nephew...he was alive. They hadn't killed him when the ruffian had retreated empty-handed.

It was beyond wonderful. Yet the moment that the truth sank in, in all its blessed relief and comfort, a completely new and fiery guilt rose inside of him. Idiot, he should have gone to search for Frodo himself! He shouldn't have despaired so quickly, even though it had seemed completely fruitless to imagine the man that had stood over him, cruel and terrible, would have spared his boy's life any longer than he needed. He had collapsed under what he believed to be the only reasonable assumption that there was no hope.

He'd been wrong, and never before had his faulty judgement made him feel more wonderful.

Suddenly, Bilbo realized that he was starving. He hadn't eaten anything today, and the sudden revelation about Frodo was delivering new life, with all of its demands, back into his system.

Dishes were still stacked shamefully to the ceiling as he entered the kitchen, but he thought nothing of it as he grabbed the last clean dish and retrieved the remains of an apple pie from the cupboard. Strange how one's appetite returned with the faintest glimmer of hope on the horizon. In the past few days, he had only eaten enough to keep himself alive, but now his maddening hunger was threatening to finish off the remains of his kitchen.

His mind was racing excitedly as he poured himself a large cup of milk. "All right, they're willing to carry out the exchange again," he muttered aloud. "So all I have to do is find some way to get the treasure back to the forest...I won't tell Hamfast this time, just in case they do happen to be watching me during the day....I won't take any chances...."

Even as Bilbo spoke, his voice quickly trailed off and died as he remembered, with a freshly sinking heart, that the whole reason the exchange hadn't worked in the first place was because of them, and their refusal to relinquish Frodo even when he had handed them the treasure.

Bilbo groaned in despair, nearly tipping his milk glass over.

He couldn't lie to himself and believe their claim that this was a fair exchange. They were just doing this to get the treasure. They had never intended to let Frodo go. He knew it now. If he handed them the treasure...if he gave them what he wanted...he would truly never see Frodo again.

Now, knowing what it felt like to lose Frodo, he couldn't make the mistake again.

"But then what?" he exclaimed aloud, panic and confusion swimming in overlapping waves through him. Collapsing into a chair, he leaned forward and dropped his elbows onto his knees. "I can't trust they'll give him back...but I can't lose Frodo again..."

Growling in supreme frustration, Bilbo slumped back in the chair.

'Think Bilbo. In your time, you've outsmarted a dragon, rescued your dwarven companions from spiders, and escaped from countless other monsters. You've been given the title of a hero and a burglar. You can find a way to get past these ruffians and save Frodo.'

His face screwed up in concentration, Bilbo sat, fighting to grasp the seemingly impossible solution, while his right hand unknowingly traveled to his coat pocket.

Moments passed before he realized he was fingering the ring. Frowning, he looked down as he pulled it from his pocket. He had forgotten it was there. Yet somehow, his hand had strayed there almost at its own accord.

It felt so cool and smooth between his fingers. Even as he registered it in his hand, he felt strangely appeased.

A moment passed, where he stared, transfixed, at the piece of metal between his thumb and pointer finger. Its golden surface gleamed against the light of the candles.

'Such a little thing,' he thought, tracing over all the times this ring had saved him from danger....Gollum, the spiders, Smaug, the Sackville-Bagginses....and then he wondered, to his astonishment, why hadn't he thought of using it before?

"By the Shire," he breathed. He couldn't believe how stupid he had been to have not considered it before.

Resolutely, Bilbo clutched the ring in a tight fist. All he needed to do was to get to the clearing earlier in the evening, put the ring on, thereby making him invisible to the eye, and wait. Just wait. At the slightest movement, he would make use of his ability to move as quickly and silently as....well, a burglar, as his dwarf companions so eloquently named him, and creep upon the ruffians once they were in sight.

From there it would depend upon circumstances as to what he should do exactly. But the result would be inevitable. Somehow, he would find a way to distract them, knock them unconscious or worse if he must, and save his nephew from those monsters once and for all.

'Frodo'

It felt nostalgic the way his nephew's name conjured up memories, both bitter and sweet to his mind, all which seemed so very long ago....

There was Frodo at the playful age of seven, hiding behind his favorite chair and waiting for him to sit down so he could spring out and surprise him.

There was Frodo at fourteen, the first to greet him at the door when he arrived at Brandy Hall for Yule...

Abruptly, Bilbo broke out of his wandering thoughts. Not yet. He had to finish formulating his plan before anything else.

A chuckle nearly rose inside of him at how he was already becoming distracted by thinking of his boy.

Now, more than ever, Bilbo knew exactly why he had felt so torn in these last years, and had become more so since bringing Frodo to Bag End. It had never really been about his getting irritated at noise, or missing complete independence. It had been Frodo, and the fact that he had effectively replaced what Bilbo had thought were the most important things in his life. While he still fancied himself an adventurer and spent most of his time buried in his book, his heart had already made the decision for him.

For some reason, he had been reluctant to admit that he had not come upon the greatest treasure in his life until he entered the room that night and found the boy curled up under the covers after his parent's death, alone and needing him more than ever.

"Frodo, I'm so sorry," he whispered. His gaze lingered on the line, scrawled so terribly that pain seemed to sear through the words: 'Why didn't you give them the money, uncle? What did I do wrong?'

Bilbo didn't even know where he was going to be able to start explaining to Frodo everything that had been thinking, everything about him that he had missed since he'd been gone.

Bilbo looked down at the letter again and blinked back fresh tears at how badly it was written.

'He must have been so scared, so confused as he wrote this....'

It was then that Bilbo made the promise that until that point, he had never understood the full demands. He was going to save Frodo. And after that, he was going to live up to the vow that he had already taken, to Saradoc Brandybuck, to Frodo's parents, and to Frodo....that he would be there to protect the boy and be the attentive, loving guardian to Frodo that he sincerely wanted to be.

"I'm coming, Frodo," he whispered, and placed the ring protectively back in his pocket.

TBC

For all those Frodo-lover fans, we go back to him next chapter, entitled "Fever." And as always, please give me you intuition and let me know how you liked the chapter. Loved it, hated it, etc. indulge me. :)

Now.....

Shlee Verde: Oh lord, I'm just going to stop writing and hand you the damn script. Stop accurately anticipating my plot! :) No, really, congratulate yourself, I was astonished while reading your review at how much you were hitting there. "I bet I know what Bilbo's going to find ....a letter perchance?" Okay, well that one I guess was inevitable but then.... "I guess in this story Bilbo discovers what his most precious treasure is....and its not the ring...." GAHHH!!!! After reading the chapter now, I'll bet you're thinking I'm not really writing this story, but waiting for your review and then gaining my inspiration from you!!! I wouldn't blame you. Honestly, I'd written that particular paragraph (Bilbo coming to understand what's most impt. to him) a few weeks ago, but lo and behold you've cleverly intercepted my idea. Heehee, please do me a favor and give me your intuition on Book 6 of Harry Potter. :) I only started reading the series this year, and guess who my fav. character was too??......(screams and throws herself into wall in a violent tantrum). It's the law of irony working against us, I swear......it just HAD to be the series I just started and I hoped would be my muse if LoTR ever dwindles that beats me down at the first new book, and my favorite character just HAD to be the one that goes bye bye. I'm praying you're right. I mean on one hand I can see why Rowling did it....and as of now, she's been pretty mature about writing death, and because of that I'm fearing she won't bring them back. But at the same time.......I am praying......and technically I can go 4 years in denial since that'll probably be how long it will take before she publishes the next one. But you're right, there's always the chance. If nothing else, I KNOW Harry will find some way to speak to them again because there was absolutely NO closure there, and there was so much unsaid. (sobs) Okay I'm going to stop now before I make a scene. Ooh also your "Harry don't know shit" quote is classic. Amen to that. Bastard kid, I love him, but he's got a heck of a lot to learn still. To conclude, I bow down to one of my most beloved readers who's always there to give me an insightful review, and as of this chapter the longest as well. Take care, Shlee Verde! :)


	23. Fever

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Characters not mine and a good thing too.

Summary: Gossip ran through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins harbored a vast fortune in the depths of his home. A few ruffians attempt to seize that fortune by kidnapping his beloved nephew and holding him for ransom.

A/N: Greetings all! Please forgive the wait for this chapter, an unexpected writer's block popped up in the middle of this and it took forever to write. Also, An OC (original character) pops up in this chapter, just a one shot piece of work that came to me one day when I was reading Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens. If she reminds anyone of Nancy, well there's reason behind that. So yeah, if anyone feels a bit confused as they read the first few pages and no Frodo or anyone familiar pops up, you didn't stumble upon an alternate story, just an OC character for a bit. :)

This chapter goes to Claudia, who was gracious enough to beta it for me. (Thanks for pointing out the halfling is really halfling! I've been doing it wrong the whole story!) Also because I know what a stickler she is for stories where Frodo be trapped in an icky Bree. Claudia, this goes to you. I hope it measures up to your corrupted Bree.

MoonMist: "Hey, you can do two chapters in one day, can't you?": AHH!! I wish! I'm so sorry, but I'm not speedy like that in my writing. I mean, this chapter alone I basically had fourteen pages of two sets of draft with virtually every single line crossed out and written over before it came to anything close to resembling what you see below. I wish I was a Mozart figure like that, where everything came out perfect at the first try, but I'm not. (sobs) It would be easier and less consuming. Okay, you got me there with the 'Halifax' location. What can I say? I needed a few towns to name besides Bree, and chose a random town in England. So you didn't know you lived in Middle Earth, eh? Well, now you know! :)

Midgette: "He (Frodo) is still mad at Bilbo, right?": Hell yeah! Well, Frodo was automatically a complex character at the start of this story and he continues to be more so as I go along. The set up I made in the beginning where Frodo's understandably dependent on Bilbo, and then gradually through the sht he goes through starts to build up immense fury at the guardian who he thinks hates him and has forsaken him, is all built up at this point. So yeah, Frodo's going to have some major issues to resolve with his uncle, and at this point he's still aching, thinking his uncle betrayed him. But of course Frodo doesn't really hate him, he's just so lost and broken at this point in the story that he really doesn't know what to believe except what he thinks is the truth. Ack....Frodo's got a bit of a surreal reality going on in this story, but considering how I set it up I tried to make it seem as though it was understandable. All will be revealed and taken care of in the end, though, I promise.

FantasyFan: Greetings, FantasyFan! Thanks for the review! "You know what they say - that which does not kill us makes us stronger. I'm hoping Frodo will come out of this ordeal stronger - that extraordinary courage, endurance and compassion has to come from somewhere": You and I think very much alike. :)

LilyBaggins: Hey Lily! I think you're right about the ring, I mean I suppose I could've devised another way for Bilbo to get Frodo back in the end without it, but it just made sense for it to once again aid him in a time of peril. And yes, by the title "Fever" it's not the nicest chapter but hey there's only been like two happy chapters in this whole damn story so far. Looking forward to the confetti throwing! Though you think you're the only one in agony here?! (grabs hair) Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for the next chapter to "Mathom?" :)

Shire hobbit: "Is it gonna work this time? Will Frodo finally get to go home?": Eek, I don't want to spoil the story for you! Just bare in mind despite the last twenty or so chapters that I've been a sadistic beast, I swear I'm not JUST a sadistic beast. I've got a sweet side, I swear.

MBradford: Always awesome to hear from you, MBradford! "It's good to see the Ring helping him accomplish something good before it reawakens to Sauron's call!": I agree with you completely. I'm one of those sappy, faith-bound people who tries to find meaning in everything and feels there's a way for good to work even through weapons of evil. And that's what the Ring always seemed to mean to me, something that was inherently evil and corrupts those that wear it, but that does not inhibit the wearer to not be able to wield it for good as well. And that's what the Ring's going to be forced to do before it's called by it's boss again. Thanks for the review! :)

Chloe Amethyst: "Another great chapter, thank you!": Another great review, thank you! (Blushes at compliments).

As I said to Mbradford just above, hell yeah the Ring's got a noble part to play in the story. True the Ring steals Frodo's soul basically at the end of LoTR but I'm not going that far storyline wise. In my story, the Ring be an instrument that aids in good. "But a little voice tells me that things won't be so easy for him – so many things could go wrong in such matters." Ahh, too true. There must be a twist and turn here and there. I guarantee it won't be a "Snatch an' run, yo!"scenario. (To quote the William brother from Scary Movie when they raid the drug store. :)

Fionarox: Greetings, Fionarox! As always, thank you for the kind words. And "MORE THAN 35 CHAPTERS?!" Hell yeah, if not more. I know that seems a lot, but considering I've now written a steady 20 chapters now of nothing but constant tension and idle misery, I think it's going to take at least 15 chapters for the plot and the characters to recover from endless torture/trauma. If it had less than that, I think I'd feel as though I wasn't doing a service to the characters (if that makes any sense! :). Oooh, and on a "Pirates of the Carribean/Lord of the Rings crossover!" Heeheee, what an original idea! I promise you I'll consider it, the thing is I haven't seen it yet (hides face) reason being my good friend/Lotr and Orlando Bloom fanatic is away until early August and I promised her I'd wait to see it with her. But I promise when I see it, I'll see if I can work some random storyline with the two. Hmm...thinking......how about Frodo and Gandalf and Bilbo are on their way to the Grey Havens, and are attacked by Pirates, where suddenly Legolas has grown bored of being an elf and looking pretty and has become a thief of the sea? Ahh...ideas coming already....just give me time to work them out. Thanks again for de review!

Idril Telrunya: Elerrina Wood? Is that you? (Peers at altered screen name) Aaah, you changed your name! This one's quite interesting. Is Idril Telrunya elvish? :) Anyway, explanation on the letter ending up in Angelica Hardbottle's smial box? To be honest, I couldn't for the life of me figure out how the heck Tony Chattin was going to get the second letter to Bilbo, considering he no longer was soliciting the help of the traitor hobbit. In an earlier draft, I'd written that Bilbo comes back to his hole and the letter was pinned to his door by a knife, but it seemed really stupid that Tony would come to his door and plant the note, and not just try to break in when the damn treasure was in there. Plus, the chances that he'd ride to the Hill without being sighted was also unlikely. So instead I decided that Tony instead took the chance of slipping it in Angelica's door (her being closer to the Brandywine River) and trusting that she'd deliver it to him before the following night. That was quite a chance he took. It would've sucked if Bilbo hadn't gotten it...but he did....so yeah, there's explanation for how the letter got there. So it's like that in Long Island? Heehee, I wouldn't know, I live in the burbs of Pennsylvania. :)

Chaos: Chaos, I'm sooo sorry I couldn't get this chapter written before Friday! This chapter unfortunately suffered from severe changes, character revisions, and I also had violent writer's block last week. So yeah, this chapter took a heck of a lot longer than I'd expected. But here it is, if it's not too late of a date.

Iorhael: Hey Iorhael! Now there was a compliment you gave me....that last line of your review really made it hard for me to write, too hot in the face to write. :) Thank you so much, that was truly heart-warming. Believe me, I know how that feels myself. As of right now I've had writer's block over neutral's Persistence of Memory (Harry Potter fic). There's a fic that makes me look at my own writing and go "piece of sht!" Also, excuse the heart rippage in the reading letter scene. Perhaps the next chapter shall mend it a bit....though I say nothing....ack I just did.....

Obelia Medusa: And the Queen of Bilbo/Frodo sweetness arrives!.....or no? Angst be up ahead for the Frodo and Bilbo pair? Uh oh....oh what am I saying, bring it on! Put me to shame! :) And yeah, I think you're right about us putting personalities that were merely character names in the book. For my own part I'm a Dickens fan, and he just looooved to put as much detail in a character that exists for five seconds as he did for the main character, hence I end up doing the same. Consider yourself in the same boat, a fiction realist. Heehe! Anyway, back to review...sorry, I'm going off a lot, it's now eleven at night...I'm glad you liked the tension that ran deep in 'Accusations' because frankly I posted the chapter thinking it was crap and I'd written it all wrong. Originally, that was a rather humorous chapter but when I finally got down to writing it, it just came out very serious and Lobelia and Otho something to be pitied rather than scorned (though that will change later on, though I say nothing! Eep!)

Budgielover: I swear to God, Budgie, you're about ready to drive me to take anti-depressants before reading your stories, they're that angst-ridden then jumping for joy happy, then the cloaked figure has to come back for more torture! AHH!! No, really, consider yourself a genius writer for driving me to that extreme, but I swear I find myself often inarticulate to review your chapters after reading them, I'm too awestruck by the latest developments. (Okay there's a review for you, I'll take the time/thought to give a genuine one soon, promise!) "Now (returns salute) save our lad!": Coming up, I promise! Just needed to shove this last chapter of angst-filled sht in first. Forgive me, there's meaning behind it I swear.

Arwen Baggins: Hey Arwen! Yes, you're right, I do tend to tendency to write an ironic ending....but we shall see....in the next chapter....heehee! Thanks for reviewing!

Ubiquitous Pitt: (Places Bilbo in front of you and runs) Okay, take him. He's yours to pummel soon enough. Good to know that the last chapter alleviated some fears and resolved some tensions....from you, I'd say then that I was successful. You're right about book 5, it sucks that we have to wait three damn years before we figure out exactly why she chose that character to die....I'm thinking that there's still reason behind it she's not (Or rather, Dumbledoor) hasn't revealed. Am now setting clock for the next countdown, next to the Return of the King countdown clock and beside that the Prisoner of Azkaban movie. (sigh, life's sometimes just a process of restless waiting.) Thank you for the site of the pictures, that was very much how I pictured to look like. You're a great artist! Oooh, and one more thing, bounce down to my response to Shlee Verde where I give explanation as to the terrible truth of Tony Chattin (though nothing against your hope for him, I swear, but this was a chapter I intended from the beginning, but I've decided to cut it.)

Tavion: Hey Tavion! Question, what did you mean by "Thank you very much for the ice" perhaps I'm just slow right now....do you mean ice breaker? :) Anyway, never mind. Glad you liked the chapter, it's funny that one line you picked out about Bilbo and Frodo was basically the only line in the whole damn chapter that didn't suffer numerous editing.

Jedi Master Calriel: "Update!": Sorry about the wait, writer's block settled in a nice comfortable dwelling of my brain and wouldn't leave for days. Thanks for the review!

Shlee Verde: (breaths big sigh of relief): Yay! You're here! I was afraid you'd taken my last reply the wrong way and thought I was criticizing your psychic powers! Not at all, yes indeed, be glad 'great brains think alike' meaning hey that means you've got the greatness too, now get back to that Merry/Pippin story and write! :) Worried about Frodo and the pervy hobbit fanciers, eh? Heheee! You know, two weeks ago I would've said that I didn't blame you, because I did have a chapter planned right after this one where Tony (whom Ubiquitous Pitt is good-hearted enough to feel is not ALL bad) actually brings Fang (the pimp of the Bree world) up to see Frodo, intending to sell Frodo to the bastard after the exchange. But, in the end, I've decided to scrap that chapter entirely because....well, I think I've put Frodo through enough Hell at this point and I'm really eager to get to the next chapter (closes mouth). But do not fear, the nightmares Frodo's going to experience later are going to often involve that horrible night in Bree, and those men, so figuratively they're not really 'gone' from the story. "But when Bilbo attempts his little rescue, he should at least be partly assured of his (bilbo's) affection for him (frodo)." Heehee..... I really hope that everyone will be pleased with the scene I've reserved for that pivotal moment. And yep, the story's now been going on for a year now (thanks for noticing!) I actually hoped to get this stinking chapter and the next one posted by last Monday, which was the one year anniversary, but writer's block descended and I just couldn't get it done (sigh). Thanks for the review, always a pleasure hearing from you! :)

QTPie-2488: QTPie! You're back! After your last review, I was fearing that you like a few others dropped out after the endless misery. (bows head in guilt) I know, I know, this story's been nothing but endless despair since Christmas. Believe me it's been just as much Hell to write as it was to read. So you've got a life now? Bah, lucky you! :) we've traded places then, since being home I've done virtually nothing but live the life of a vegetable. I'm sorry I've kept you so long since seeing where Frodo's been....damn, it's been like six months since I've had a chapter with him. He's been sick in that attic for six months! Ahh! Well, here he be down below. He's a little out of it at the moment but I swear it's hardly the end for him, and we'll get PLENTY more of Frodo soon enough. You might even be sick of the little bugger (if that be possible.)

tiggivon: Yay! (Does a little dance of joy). You're still alive! Like QTPie, I thought you'd abandoned the story for the idle misery of it! Glad that's not the case. "Imagine those ruffians being led a merry dance by the invisible Bilbo": Heehee! Quite the image I had in mind! Thank you soo much for the ample reviews, I really appreciate it! I missed you!

Thanks to everyone who takes the time to review....know your kind words are what have kept me going on this story for the year now, and will continue to as the story rolls along.

Chapter 22: Fever

It was an especially rowdy night in the tavern. Still in the early hours of the night, the bottles of ale were going quicker than usual, and every few seconds Valarie found herself jammed into the side of the bar by some drunken stranger trying to get by. Through the dense pipe smoke she could just make out two men fighting in the center of the tavern. Those that were not engaged in cards were gathering in a circle to watch.

Yes, this was definitely a rowdy night. At least more so than usual.

Not that Valarie minded. In fact, she found it rather nice to be smothered like she was now. In a place as low-down and crowded as this, there was no better way to lose yourself within the mesh of nameless faces, none more clear than the other, and knowing you were no more clear to anyone else through the smoke and raucous voices either.

Aside from the foulness of it, it felt rather comforting. So comforting, in fact, that Valarie often didn't leave the tavern for days but would run the bar by day, inhaling the left over scents of ash and sweat from the night before. Going outside on the streets had a tendency to remind her that her life hadn't always been like this. The sweet, fresh air of the sunny afternoons in Bree revived memories of a time long past that she did not want to be reminded of.

Yes. It felt so much better to remain here where she was, where the rough voices and grubby faces drowned out everything else, and she felt all the better for it.

Tonight, she had figured, was no exception, as she stood by the bar with her two friends, Agnes and Sara. They were currently scanning the crowd for tonight's job – the men around them. Valarie watched idly as Agnes caught a man's eyes and then lowered her eyes in a mock gesture of modesty. No one had approached just yet, but it was still early in the evening.

Valarie knew she should be doing the same right now, but she wasn't quite tipsy enough. It was difficult to work without being put in the mood, and she wasn't drunk yet, though not exactly sober either. Her burp was lost in the latest uproar of voices from the fight going on. Someone had won.

Eagerly, she scanned the crowd in hopes to catch a sight of the winner. Maybe the lucky man would want a reward for his victory besides a free drink, and she could retire early tonight.

Suddenly, the crowds parted. Instead of the winner, however, the mangy, heavy set figure of Rob Strasser appeared, shoving people aside as he made his way to the bar.

Valarie suppressed a groan. She really didn't want to deal with him tonight, of all people.

Seeing his approach, Sara jabbed her in the ribs, and Agnes quickly hissed for her to lower the sleeves of her shabby red dress and muss at her curly red hair, as though it needed to look any more unkempt.

"Where've you been?" Strasser demanded, standing before her specifically. "I've been lookin' fer you fer an hour!"

'Great, he's in one of his moods,' Valarie thought, despairingly. The only time she could really stand him was when he was sober, and sour.

"Aww, we've been right here, sweetie!" Sara answered, with an unbecoming look of innocence. "What can I get ye?" she asked, leaning over the counter and taking a swig from a jug.

"Yes, we've been right here waiting for ye, Robert," Valarie replied, molding her face into a well-practiced grin. "We ain't the ones that've disappeared! You're the one who's been hidin' the last few days, ye big bear!"

"I need ye now," Strasser responded, coldly.

The bluntness of his statement initiated an eruption of drunken giggles from the three women. _He must be drunker than the whole place combined to say that,_ Valarie figured with amusement. Yet he didn't look drunk, just tired and for some reason, frantic in the way his eyes roamed around distractedly, and his fists clenched at his sides.

"Well, ye need me now, do ye?" she asked, suggestively, and began to play with a button on his coat. "Well, then I hope ye've got more coins on ye than last time, otherwise I might say no."

"Val," he hissed, grabbing her arm. "I need ye to come up now. It ain't got nothin' to do with that."

The grip on her bony arm was painful and Val glared at him, heatedly. "Why, what did you do this time?"

"I have a problem," he said, his voice low. As he spoke he shot warning glares at Agnes and Sara, who were both watching curiously, and edged her away into the crowd.

"Rob, I ain't in the mood for games now," she shouted, her voice lost over the crowd. Even when she attempted to tug her arm back, it did little to persuade him. In the end she gave up and allowed him to drag her into the back hallway.

A few steps headed up to the second floor, Strasser stopped and turned to her. His large, meaty hand still wrapped around hers. "You ain't gonna say nothin' of what you see here, are ye?" he said, more of a threat than an inquiry. His black eyes bored into hers.

"What's that s'pose to mean?" she asked, hitching up her skirt for a second to scratch at an itch with her free hand.

Growling under his breath, he wrenched her arm in warning. She breathed an "ouch" but didn't protest further. She was used to this kind of treatment. Besides, she'd had worse.

"You wuz a governess once, right?" he demanded.

Valarie cringed as he brought her face closer to his. Ugh, she hated how his breath smelled like alcohol and dead fish.

"Yes," she said, incredulously, wondering what her prior occupation had to do with anything. "I was the Hamilton children's governess before they moved south, an' there warn't any jobs in this filthy dung hole but downstairs," she added, bitingly.

"So you've taken care o' sick ones before."

"I have, what of it?" A thought occurred to her, and she grinned. "Doan tell me yer comin' down with something, cuz you can jus' go an die then..."

Valarie was surprised when he merely glared at her and dragged her further up the stairs. It was hard to discern what it was he was holding back from saying, and her curiosity grew as they ascended the back stairs to the attic. With the exception of a small candle lit, the third floor was completely dark, and Valarie coughed at the dust that hung in the air.

Frowning, Valarie watched as Strasser went over to a small form lying on the floor and gave it a sharp kick. For a moment she had thought it might be an animal until a sharp whimper escaped it.

"Well, he's still alive then," Strasser said, stiffly. "Get to it."

"Get to what?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from the small form to see him looking at her, expectantly.

Growling, Strasser dragged her to her knees beside the creature, and then she saw with a fair degree of surprise that it was a child. He lay upon a cot with his back to them, curled up in a tight, shivering ball. From her position, Valarie couldn't tell how old he was, but from his small, thin frame, he didn't look to be older than twelve. His clothes were filthy and torn and the arm that was visible, the other trapped awkwardly beneath him, was caked with dried blood. If he was conscious, he didn't show it, but remained sprawled on the cot, looking like a lifeless doll.

"Get to it," Strasser muttered again from behind her.

"What did you do to him?" she asked, scornfully. "Don't tell me this is a pickpocket that made the mistake of trying to steal from your pocket."

"It don't matter, Val," he answered, evasively. "Jus' make 'im better. He's got a fever or somethin,' an I couldn't rouse 'im earlier. Just...keep 'im alive, I can't have 'im die."

Valarie searched his ugly face for a moment before she understood that he was closed to further explanation. Sighing, she bent over the boy and, taking his shoulders, turned him onto his back.

It was then that Valarie saw the feet. Covered in hair, and much larger than normal.

"This is a halfling," she stated, surprise dawning on her. Distantly, she recalled Agnes telling her something earlier about a band of halfling that had journeyed from their land in search of one of their own that had gone missing, but she dismissed it, knowing Strasser's temper.

"Well?" the wild-haired man demanded.

"Well," she said, looking down at the hobbit with assessing eyes, "If ye want to be of any use, go an fetch me some fresh towels and water to start, and something to bandage his arm with."

It was a relief when he was gone. Though he may be a frequent and well paying customer, she couldn't stand his company any longer than was needed.

A weak cough suddenly caught her attention, and Valarie looked down at the halfling.

At first, she figured he simply needed his arm bandaged where he had been cut. Yet as she examined him closer, she saw there was a bit more to it than that.

His clothing, which was filthy and torn in several places, hung off of him as mere rags, and as she lifted the other arm out from under him she saw that there was a wound on the palm of his hand as well. His face was dirty too, but through the dark patches she could distinguish the difference between that of dirt smudges and bruises. His lips were parted slightly, and she could hear his ragged breathing that matched the uneven rise and fall of his chest.

Although it was uncommon to find a halfling thief in Bree, it was not unheard of. From appearances, he looked to be no more than one of the pestering pickpockets that skulked about, and this was the result of his foolishly trying to pickpocket Rob Strasser.

_Dammit, what a way to spend an evening,_ she thought, hitching her skirt behind her, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible.

At first, Valarie thought that the little halfling was unconscious. But when she lifted the wounded hand to examine it closer, the boy's eyes suddenly snapped open, wide and bright with pain.

Valarie was struck at how enormous the halfling's eyes were. Perfectly round, and sapphire blue in color, they were very different from the small, dark eyes of the hollings that darted about in Bree. Once she laid the hand down, the sharp pain lancing his face disappeared, only to be replaced with a heavy shadow of weariness.

Lifting his hand in hers once again, she began to pry the delicate little fingers apart. In another abrupt action, the halfling cried out and his whole body jerked as though his hand were being set aflame.

"Shh," she said, sternly. "It's all right."

'_Not really,'_ she added to herself as she observed the wound with grave eyes. Just as she'd expected, the cut was infected. _'Well, no wonder,'_ she couldn't help but add to herself, _'being in a place as filthy as this.'_

The hobbit's face screwed up in agony as she kept the fingers apart, and he bit his lip in an attempt to not cry out again. As Valarie carefully bent back the thumb a little to see the end of the wound, he bit too hard and blood erupted from his lip.

Valarie groaned in frustration as she dabbed at the blood of his latest injury with her sleeve.

Dammit, what on Middle Earth was a halfling doing up here in the attic of this low down tavern? She was almost certain he was not a native of Bree. Being there as long as she had, she'd gotten to know practically everybody, and those that chose not to associate with women like her she'd at least seen.

As Valarie rolled up the hobbit's sleeve of his wounded arm, she began to grow even more doubtful of her earlier assumption that he was a pickpocket when she saw that, despite the mud and blood stains, the hobbit's clothes were made of a fine fabric that was not easy to come by. The buttons on his vest were finely crafted as well. For a second, she considered that he had perhaps stolen these clothes...yet that didn't seem to make sense either. They fit him almost perfectly, as though they had been made fondly and specifically for his frame.

With these new observations sinking into a hole in the pit of her stomach, Valarie realized with some degree of discomfort that this halfling wasn't the thief she'd first imagined, nor did he even seen a common hobbit to be wearing clothes of such fine material.

Agnes's words from earlier came back to her, small fragments of conversation that she'd heard amidst the racket downstairs. Something about a missing hobbit, and how he was the heir to one of the few who possessed a fortune in the halfling land....

'_Don't think about it!'_ she admonished herself, angrily. Before any further thoughts could pervade her rising suspicions, Valarie felt the urge to slap herself for her stupidity. What was the matter was her? Hadn't she learned anything since being stuck in this dung hole for years? If there was anything she'd learned in Bree, it was to mind one's own business, otherwise trouble was a guarantee. And if there was any one person whose business she should think twice about messing with, it was Rob Strasser's. He'd asked her to keep the halfling alive, and nothing more. That was her business – that's what she would do.

'_Besides,_' she added to herself,_ 'it's not like anyone would believe a thing I'd say anyway.' _

With this latest bitterness sinking in, her expression resumed its former void of any suspicion or pity she might have felt as she looked down at the feverish halfling.

Perfect timing, too, as she heard heavy footsteps from below. In a moment, Strasser emerged from the trap door, dumping the items she had requested on the floor beside her. She didn't doubt that he'd swapped those fresh towels from behind the bar, and the water from the well.

"Well?" he demanded, after a short silence. "What's wrong with 'im?"

"I'm still checking. He's not very responsive," she added, keeping her voice deliberately vague.

The halfling had the two cuts, one on the palm of his right hand, the other on his upper left arm. They seemed to be the only two major injuries. Testing his limbs, she concluded that he didn't have any broken bones, though the skin on his arms and chest were especially tender as she pinched the skin. Unbuttoning the top part of his shirt, she wasn't surprised to see bruises dotting the pale flesh. Brushing the limp bangs away, she place her palm on the boy's forehead. His skin was clammy and hot.

Valarie wasn't sure how long he had been here, but it seemed as though his entire body was now wracked with the combination of blood loss, infection, and weakness from what looked like repeated abuse. . ..it was surprising his body had fought this long.

And he was so thin. As she lifted the wounded arm to test its mobility, it struck her how it felt no heavier than a hollowed out branch of a tree.

"He's thin as a stick. What are you feeding him?" she asked. Then, raising an eyebrow, she added, "Or aren't you?"

"We toss 'im scraps."

Valarie huffed silently, unable to mask her disgust as he referred to the boy as though he were a dog. Not that she expected anything better of him...but still, she felt the urge to gag.

If nothing else, this recent revelation gave her an excuse to ask him to leave and fetch the boy some bread and water. With the meager supplies that she had, there was little more she could do for the little one's fever and wounds, but nourishment would hopefully strengthen him.

A heavy tension seemed to physically lift from the attic space once he was gone.

Taking one of the rags Strasser had dropped by her side, Valarie dipped the cloth in the water, effectively soaking it in the cool water before applying it to the inflamed hand. The boy's face scrunched up in pain again, and his eyes flew open. While Strasser had been there, he had wisely stayed silent, yet now he breathed heavily and tried to curl up on his side as she bathed the wound.

It was disconcerting how the only response she received from him was in answer to pain.

As Valarie continued to hold the little hand, something new and unwanted started to turn in her rib cage. It wasn't exactly sympathy, but. . .well, seeing a creature so young and helpless looking as this. . .

Maybe it would be a good idea to talk to him. This silence was aggravating, and talking also might help to keep him away and not slip into another feverish doze, as she'd first found him in. Yes, judging from his sickly state, talking might be best.

"So, what's yer name?" she asked, surprised at how soft her voice suddenly sounded. It had been such a long time since she had spoken softly to anybody, she'd almost forgotten that she could, or was even capable of it. The last time a kind word was more chance of survival than a curse was when she would loom over the bed of the Hamilton daughter and whisper to her after she would have a night. That always helped her get back to sleep.

The same tone seemed to work now. As she continued to rinse away the dirt and grit from his palm, the strings in her chest loosened a little to see the deep lines etching his face smooth. Licking his papery lips, he made an attempt to speak, but all that came out was a weak cough.

Dammit, if Strasser would only come up with the food and water.

"Who?" the boy finally croaked.

"I'm – " she began, assuming he was wondering who she was. But she stopped, not sure how to answer that question. Well, she could be perfectly blunt with him and say she was just a random whore who worked in the tavern downstairs who Strasser had ordered to help him. No, that was so blunt it sounded stupid. She could maybe say that she was a friend, but that really wasn't true. Then again, what difference did it make? "It doesn't matter," she said, finally. "I'm supposed to make you better." Pausing for a moment, a question began to build inside of her, and before she knew it she had asked, "So, who got you into this mess?"

"My uncle," he whispered. She frowned at his answer in confusion. He had flinched as he had spoken, though it didn't seem to be from the wound.

"Where is he?" she asked, beginning to wrap his hand in a cloth bandage. "Why aren't you with him?"

"He hates me," the boy rasped. The little face screwed up again, tighter. For a moment, she thought he was ready to cry, but he didn't. "He hates me. He doesn't. . . .want me. . . .'nymore."

Valarie pressed her lips together in understanding. The story already sounded coldly familiar. . .a child, more of a burden than useful in a family that was poor or struggling. . .it wouldn't be the first time someone defenseless had been left behind in Bree. It was a story she could sometimes read in someone's eyes, a hollowed, deadened look.

In this little halfling, the pain of abandonment seemed a fresh blow, and along with the still fragile shock in his eyes, he looked to be someone who had gone through a lot of terrible things in a short period of time.

"I'm sure he doesn't," she said, dully. Sympathy wasn't her best attribute, not anymore, and she really didn't know what else to say to him.

"Who...are you?" he asked, after a few moments. His head lifted a little, and he squinted in an attempt to see her better. "You're...a lady."

Valarie couldn't help but smile grimly at his choice of a word. "Not really." A lady was a term of respect, and even when she'd been the Hamilton's maid, she wasn't in a position to be called that.

"Then...who?" he asked, frowning in puzzlement.

"My name's Valarie," she replied, tying the bandage on his hand in place. It wasn't the best job, but there was little else she could do with the supplies she had. The bandage at least would ward off further infection.

"Wha...what are you doing here?" he asked, trying to lift his head again, unsuccessfully.

It was strange how she kept stumbling on the questions he asked. Did he mean why was she in the attic, or why she was here in Bree....oh dammit, of course he meant the attic.

For some reason, the question seemed to take on a different meaning when asked from someone with such a soft, weak voice, someone who didn't sound or act like any halfling pickpocket she'd ever heard. It stirred the question that time and a lot of drinking had numbed her to.

"Why...why are you helping me?"

She sighed, placing the rag upon his brow again. "That man from before? Well, he wants you to get well, and he's too much of an idiot what to do himself," she answered, grimly.

"So. . . .you're a friend of his," he said, faintly.

"I guess you can say that. We've had some times."

It was more difficult to admit that than it should've. But why? For goodness sakes, she'd been doing it for seven years now, surrounded by nothing but smoke, alcohol, and the worst inhabitants of Bree. Every night was the same, and every morning she rose with a few coins to spend before the night resumed.

Anger started to flare inside of her as she stared down at the halfling. Who was this little boy that was conjuring feelings, powerful and painful, in her gut that she'd long thought dead?

Bringing the rag away from his face after washing away the dirt, she now saw how pale he was. Even in the dim candlelight, the skin pulled taut over his cheeks looked washed of all color.

After turning for a moment to rinse the rag, she was surprised when she turned back to be met with a face, animated with fear and anger that challenged her.

"No," he said, pulling away as she tried to place the rag on his brow.

"What?"

"Don....don't help me," he whispered, hoarsely. Valarie's heart started to beat faster. "Don...don't bother."

When she didn't say anything, his blue eyes came up, pleading, pinning her in their intensity.

"Please...th-they won't kill me. . .they'd do worse. . .please, before anything worse happens. I don't want this – " he suddenly he broke off as another coughing fit finally overtook him, and he curled on his side. His tiny frame shook with the weight of the coughs as he hacked into the dewy cot.

Valarie watched. Though her face was still frozen in a mask of indifference, the former tickling of pity she had felt earlier, and had begun to grow, was now overwhelming her, preventing her from looking away from the defeated little creature that was begging her to let him waste away.

Humiliation and fury writhed inside of her. This wasn't right, she wasn't meant for this, she wasn't the one he should be talking to.

Stupid halfling, what made him think she was any better than Strasser? What made him pathetic enough to think that she would really help him?

Emotions assaulted her like a plague, but she struggled to contain it. "Don't talk so," she ordered, dampening the rag again.

"Why not?" the small, hoarse voice brushed past her ears.

Valarie ignored him, and went back to pressing the wet rag to his flaming forehead. At the feel of the rag, however, he lifted his good arm and swatted at her, feebly.

"No. . .don't. . .stop!" he heaved. His chest rose and fell quickly, as though another fit was coming, and his skeleton thin arm came up again, flailing uselessly.

"Why are you saying this?" she demanded, harshly. When he didn't respond immediately, her anger rose, and she gripped his narrow shoulders. He flinched at the contact and lifted his bandaged hand as though to ward of an expected blow. "Who would you want that?"

"It hurts," he whispered, miserably. "Everything hurts."

A harsh sigh escaped her, and she released him. For a moment she watched him curl up into himself, still expecting to be hurt somehow, and there was nothing she wanted more in that moment but to rebuke him somehow.

Yet she couldn't. Because...despite herself, despite everything, she understood. She knew the feeling.

At that single admittance, truth started to flood her like an icy dam. She wasn't really mad at him...she was mad at herself, for her weakness, for giving up so many years ago.

Memories flooded her of those first few weeks after the Hamilton family left, and she was alone in a wild town in the middle of nowhere. When she had first started working at the brothel, she'd thought it was necessary and there was no other way to survive.

'Necessary.' The word had filtered through her mind in those first few weeks, hollowing her of everything but self-loathing. Even when she finally earned enough to travel south again, and leave Bree forever, too much had happened and she couldn't bear to leave and have to face herself. In those first few weeks, when she'd first begun waking up to coins by her dresser, she had wondered if it had been better if she had just died in the street, rather than live like this. But she'd chosen to live, if this was living.

Hands shaking, Valarie turned the boy onto his back again. "Then let's make you feel better," she said.

After a tense silence, he seemed to relax and give in....or give up. Either way, he stopped struggling, and she couldn't help but feel thankful for it. He was wasting his strength struggling like that.

Valarie allowed the boy to curl up on his side as she placed a fresh rag on his flaming forehead.

"So," she said, resuming the earlier conversation. "You never told me your name."

"Frodo," he said, his voice resuming quiet defeat. He seemed to be dozing, barely paying any attention any longer. That sudden outburst seemed to have drained him of all remaining strength.

"What are you doing up here in this attic?" Valarie faltered in asking the question, knowing what a risk she was taking, but curiosity drove her to it. "Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," he whispered.

Valarie felt the muscles in her throat tighten. This boy's miseries just went on and on.

"Where is your home?"

"I don't have one," he said, his voice breaking as he began to cough again. This time the coughs sounded thicker, and wet, as though tears were in his throat.

It probably would have strained her further to see tears, yet she knew it was worse when you couldn't cry anymore.

Looking down on the boy again, she noticed that his shivering was growing steadily worse. Wrapping his one arm around himself, he buried his face deeper into the cot as though to hide away from the chilly air that seeped in through the cracks of the ceiling.

Valarie immediately removed her own shawl from about her shoulders, prepared to drape it over him. Yet she hesitated, seeing that the cot was damp and it would hardly warm him to be laying upon it. She hesitated further as a better idea came to her.

She hadn't been near children in so long. It had been even longer since she'd held one. With the distance of year and everything that had happened in between, it didn't feel as though she had the right. But this child had no one else, and he needed warmth, if only to hold off the fever from worsening. If only to hold off the inevitable a bit longer.

Slowly and hesitantly, Valarie lifted the boy from the cot and brought him into her lap, his head pillowed in the crook of her arm. With his strength gone, he all but sagged against her as she wrapped the moth bitten shawl about him. His frame was small enough that the shawl thankfully covered him from head to feet.

For a few moments they sat in silence, the boy dozing and she trying to rub warmth into his numb hands.

When the steps creaked again, the enormous blue eyes shot open, wild with fright. It reminded Val of a small, hunted animal the way his eyes glittered in the dark.

Luck must have been on both their sides. Strasser didn't stay, but instead dumped the plate of food down and left once again.

Tilting the boy's head up, Val brought the skin of water to his parched lips.

"Frodo," she said, softly. She thought that was what his name was. Well, even if it wasn't, his dark lashes fluttered in response. "Drink this."

Frodo stared in discernment at the skin and then shook his head.

"Are you really gonna challenge me?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

A smile came to her face, warming her cheeks, and she hoped against hope that he would return the smile. Maybe not hopeful, but it would be nice to see something other than sorrow. Something told her that before those eyes had not always been so tired and puffy, but had once been bright and happy.

Tentatively, he began to drink slow, careful slips. As he did, she moved to feel his head again. He was still very hot, and even with the shawl about him, the little body continued to tremble in her arms.

It was a miracle he'd lasted this long.

"See? It's all right, you're going to be fine," she said, with a tremulous smile. Once he was finished with the water, she broke the stale bread in pieces before feeding it to him. Like the water, he ate the bread slowly and with difficulty.

After he'd finished the last of the bread, Valarie felt more heartened. Yet it didn't last long. Just moments after he'd swallowed the last of the bread, his stomach rejected its contents and Valarie watched with building tension as the boy turned over in her lap and vomited up all of the water and food onto the floor.

Wave after wave of emotion coursed through her as she watched the little shoulders rise and fall with dry heaves after he'd vomited up the last of the food. It hurt to see a halfling once young and lively....she knew, they all were...reduced to something abandoned and battered. She recognized the sorrow and emptiness in his eyes, and the soft resignation in his voice that comes when all caring voices have gone and the most precious of one's self and one's life is destroyed. There was never a more dangerous state to be in...it was the point when one begins to give in. She knew that too.

The footsteps came too soon. Valarie took the last few seconds to hug the sick halfling closer, hoping some of her body's warmth would seep into him.

Dammit, the boy wasn't ready. She wasn't ready. But the sound was coming closer, two sets of footsteps now, both swift and growing louder with each step. Valarie still didn't know what dark scheme Strasser intended for this halfling, but she was wise enough to know that it must be something terrible.

Yet what could she do? she wondered, the truth suffocating her in its hopelessness. She was just a stinking whore in Bree...there was no way she could stand and face Strasser....there was nothing she could do.

So when Strasser came up again, this time joined by another thief she knew as Tony Chattin, she didn't protest as they ripped the boy from her arms.

"I've got the horses in the back," Tony said, handing the halfling to Strasser. "The rangers are out on the street, so make sure to go through the back." Turning, the man turned to Valarie. "Thanks for the service, Val."

"Yeah, knew you'd come in handy for something," Strasser leered, as she began to descend the stairs.

A sudden flare of defiance rose in her as she stood. "Where are you taking him?" she dared to ask.

"None o' yer business," came the predictable reply.

"Well...it might. I mean, you know if he gets sicker, or something," she said, stumbling awkwardly over her words.

"That won't be necessary," Tony replied, swinging down the stairs. "If all works out, you shouldn't even expect us back."

"Wait, what do you mean?" she asked in alarm.

Chewing on her lip anxiously, Valarie quickly began to climb down the stairs. In the light of the second floor, she saw the halfling swung over Strasser's shoulder, looking pale and lifeless.

"Wait, what does that mean?" she asked. "What do you mean you're not coming back?"

"Just back off," Strasser barked. He stopped and turned, his huge bulk blocking her from moving.

"Don't tell me you took a liking to the lad," Tony said, over his shoulder as he descended the stairs. The casual scorn in his tone angered her further, and gritting her teeth, she tried to slip past as Strasser turned.

"I said back off!" the man seethed, and shoved her backwards.

Stumbling back awkwardly, Valarie lost her footing and collapsed on the hard floor. A wave of pain and anger washed over her, and it took her a moment to scramble up and make her way down the stairs.

By the time she managed downstairs, they were gone. The horses that were often kept in the back stable were gone. Quickly, she rushed to the front street through a narrow break between the tavern and another building. But by the time she'd made her way to the road, she was only quick enough to watch them as two horses bearing two men and a halfling rode away into the dark mist.

For a moment, she just stood in front of the tavern, her eyes clinging to the break in the forest where they had just vanished. Bitterness crept back into her heart at her pathetic failure. 'Well, what a waste that was.'

It was a cold and muggy night, and there were very few people walking along the street. Those that were trudged through the mud, silently. Though she no longer had her shawl, Valarie felt a sudden urge to take a walk, to get away from the tavern. She hadn't left the place in several days, and the cool night air was refreshing, even with the mixed scents of stale ale and horses.

Valarie felt strangely detached from the scene as she walked down the street she had lived in for years. It felt uncomfortable and at the same time comforting, if that made any sense to anybody.

As she passed by the Prancing Pony, an inn at the far end of the street, her gaze lifted from the muddy road and she caught sight of a few men speaking with a small band of halflings . She recognized a few of the halflings as ones that lived in Bree, but three of the others, the ones who stood by the men in dark cloaks, were different. They wore bright colors of green and yellow, colors that clashed with the brown rags of the Bree halflings . Without even realizing it, Valarie found herself edging closer to them, though she kept walking, arms folded in front of her. By the time she came with a short distance of them, she was able to hear snatches of their conversation.

".......Yes, that's right......"

".........been gone two weeks now....."

".......wasting yer time, they'd be farther from here by now....."

"........boy's name......."

"........Frodo Baggins....."

Valarie didn't know that she'd stopped walking until she felt her shoes swimming in mud. That was the name the boy called himself, wasn't it? But that didn't mean it was him, she thought, even as the blood started to pound in her ears. For all she knew, those halflings had the same names. It could be another.

Valarie resumed walking, slower.

".......he's the nephew......"

".....Bilbo Baggins, if that's any more clear," one of the halflings piped in.

Valarie stopped again. The word nephew caught her ear, and she knew if she kept walking then the word would follow her. Maybe she was crazy, and she was being hopeful and stupid for nothing, even when coincidence was becoming too unlikely of an excuse.

'Dammit,' she muttered under her breath, her eyes falling to the ground. She knew she should just keep walking, and forget this had ever happened. Agnes and Sara were waiting for her to get back, and if she didn't find some money tonight then she would be hungry in the morning.

Even as sense and desperation tugged her forward, something else stilled her in place. In an effort to halt both, she didn't move, but didn't go over there either. Straining her ears, she could just make out the soft voices.

"Baggins don't live in Bree," one of the Bree hobbits said, scornfully. "They all live in the Shire, Hobbiton mostly."

"We understand that, little sir," replied one of the rangers. "But as these good hobbits have already mentioned, this hobbit was kidnapped by men who may in fact live here. We wanted to know if you have perhaps seen him."

Valarie's head began to ache with confusion and shortness of breath, and everything in her started to scream to just walk away and get away from those right voices right now. What would it do anyway to tell them she'd just nursed a sick, wounded halfling?

'Perhaps it would make all the difference.'

For a moment, Valarie reminded herself that Strasser and Tony were gone, and that faint voice inside started to grow a little louder. Maybe...just maybe...she could help. Telling them what she knew might not do anything. And it certainly wouldn't better her situation any. But...maybe it would help remove the cold feeling in her heart that came when she woke up in the morning, or caught herself sober in a mess people and wondered why did she ever let herself break down like this? How she'd wished someone had helped....

Would she let another succumb to that? Would she stand aside, when there was help right next to her?

Glancing up at the small crowd again, Valarie saw that the men and the halflings had gathered no information from the Bree hobbits, and were now walking away. For a moment relief flooded her, and she felt her limbs relax in not having to listen to those voices anymore,

Before she changed her mind, she turned, ready to leave. She could now go back to the bar and get a drink. No doubt the ale would wash away all these thoughts and she'd wake up in the morning, forgetting this whole thing had ever happened.

Valarie tried to move, but her feet had sunk into the marsh of the muddy street, firmly planting her in place.

TBC

Sorry about Val, hope she comes off a believably character. She's actually a lot more sympathetic and caring in this version. When I first started writing it I'd planned for her to be a completely cold blooded harlot figure who Frodo melts the heart of, being the precious cutie he is, but it just didn't work in the limited amount of time I had for the chapter, so instead she's got a conscience, just no one takes the time to see it.

Anyone that's read Oliver Twist obviously recognizes Val being Nancy and Frodo be poor, hopeless Oliver. Hey, at least I didn't make Frodo out to be easily corrupted and going back to Bilbo as more a tragic Artful Dodger figure, a character that Elijah Wood has played, and rather splendidly too. Naw, that would have been too disturbing.

Next chapter be the one I've been DYING, literally DYING to write since I started the story, entitled:

"The Night Has a Thousand Eyes."

I'm too tired right now to make some subtle hints as to what happens, but I'm hoping everyone gets what I mean. Will second try be successful? Hehee!!

Thanks to all who is still reading! Forgive me for the horrible, gut-wrenching journey I take you all on.


	24. The Night Has a Thousand Eyes

23: The Night Has a Thousand Eyes

"The round Moon rolled behind the hill,

as the Sun raised up her head.

She hardly believed her fiery eyes;

for though it was day,

to her surprise they all went back to bed!"

Bilbo paused to take a breath before going on to the next verse. He'd begun singing softly to busy himself while he sat in the forest, waiting, for what he was certain was the longest hour of his life. After the indescribable joy he had felt last night in discovering Frodo was alive, a plaguing restlessness had come upon him that had grown stronger with every dragging hour of the day. Now, he wished only that the night would get here already, so everything would come to pass!

Bilbo munched on the insides of his cheeks. His eyes lifted to the bright blue sky above him, and he began to consider whether or not he might have arrived too early. As he had paced restlessly through Bag End and smoked vigorously on his pipe, he had thought that waiting here would be less torturous than waiting at home. Now that he crouched in between two bushes for hours with nothing to entertain himself but the calm, peaceful forest, he realized his mistake.

Sighing in heated frustration, Bilbo sat down on the grass and decided to hum some more songs in his head. Let's see, he'd already gone through 'To the Bottle I Go,' 'Pass Them By!' and 'The Man in the Moon Stayed Up Too Late.' Finally, he settled upon 'The Road.' It was one of Frodo's favorites.

Fresh excitement stirred in him at his nephew's name, and he found himself grinning like a fool despite the caution and anxiety he knew he should be feeling right now. But he couldn't help it. This last week had felt longer than his previous ninety nine years combined, and to know now that his plan might work, and Frodo might be with him in just a few hours...oh, it was impossible to maintain any semblance of calm.

A visit from Mrs. and Mrs. Gamgee earlier that afternoon had proven this fact undoubtedly. Though Bilbo loved his neighbors dearly, and they had come in nothing but good faith, it had been utter torture attempting to resume his former state of grief for the sake of appearances.

To say that he had put on a terrible performance was a bizarre understatement. Never before had it been so strenuous keeping his mouth from perking up when Bell inquired as to how he was, and he couldn't help but look unaffected when Hamfast inquired as to what he planned to do next about looking for the traitor hobbit. It didn't seem as important now as just getting his boy back.

Now, Bilbo suspected it had been his frequent....no, constant....glances at the clock that he believed had perplexed them the most. But though it was hopelessly obvious that something was bother him, they took his attention to the clock to mean that he had prior plans for the afternoon, and they left rather quickly.

Guilt had flooded Bilbo as they left, and the desire to tell them everything almost overcame his silence. But no. He couldn't. Though they had been kinder to him than anyone in the world, this night was up to him. It was his mission, and he would not dare endanger them further than he very well could have done last time. Also, there was the presence of his ring. He couldn't risk its notice.

The visit from the Gamgees had at least partially sobered him, yet the hours continued to crawl by at the pace of a snail, always far from the time. Finally, he reached the point where he couldn't remain sitting any longer, and ended up leaving for the forest, the ring already on his finger, at three o'clock. That gave him more than enough time to place the sack of treasure in a secret location in the forest, not far from the clearing. He planned to tell the men where it was, if it even came to the exchange, but only when Frodo was safe.

At long last, night began to approach. Bilbo was exactly sure how long he had been sitting, but he could now see darker shades blending their way into the bright blue sky. To his surprise, it was not a quiet night like before. Even now, as the stars began to blink faintly, birds continued to chirp overhead and a cool breeze swept through the trees, making soft, reassuring sounds.

If Bilbo didn't know any better, it seemed as though the forest was awake with him.

Darkness finally set in. There were very few clouds, and the moon shone brilliantly, bathing the forest in a pale light. As his surroundings took on the appearance they would be when it happened, fear slowly began to creep in upon Bilbo. Underneath his hope and determination, he couldn't be foolish and deny that there was a great chance this wouldn't work. He was not the powerful wizard Gandalf was, nor a prophet, and he had no true knowing of tonight's outcome. He was sure of only one thing, a fact that lay in the pit of his churning stomach: This was it. Tonight marked the final battle. His nephew's fate determined the potential victory, or failure.

Everything was a haze. Once, when Frodo was little, he remembered waking one morning to immense fog outside his window. It was not yet dawn, and what light there was gave the fog an ashen, ghostly presence as it hovered above the ground.

As Frodo began to come to, the vast plane that divided him from sleep and awake resembled that fathomless mist.

Everything around him was cold, and the air he breathed felt like he were swallowing air with little ice chips, cutting him as they slid down his tortured throat.

For a long time, Frodo had been lost in this world of fog.

Well, maybe lost wasn't the right word. Though he couldn't escape it on his own, he was removed from it every once in a while by some outside force. The kick Strasser had delivered to his side, for example, had dragged him out. Then the lady had been there, and she had brought him out too. Frodo hadn't been sure who she was, but it had been easier to stay awake when she was there. After dressing his wounds, he'd been able to swallow the fresh water she gave him, and felt a cool, soothing rag on his forehead. Then she had held him, rocking him, saying that everything would be all right even when they both knew it wasn't true.

Frodo wasn't sure if the lady had been real, or not. She had seemed too nice to be a friend of Strasser's as she had claimed. Well, if she had not been real, she had been a nice dream.

Frodo didn't remember much after that. Once Tony and Strasser had come back, he had willingly submitted to darkness, where his nightmares waited.

For a while, he had dreamed he was back in the Shire. He was playing in the golden wheat field near where his parents had lived, and all sad memories were gone. Then Strasser had appeared from out of nowhere and grabbed him. He had kicked and struggled, but his cries were cut short when he turned to see Bilbo standing nearby, waving, as Strasser dragged him away.

In the last few days, the uncle he had once known and loved as dearly as his parents had become a demon in his dreams. In the midst of a nightmare, or even when he was lost in the great fog, his uncle's face would appear and change into some grotesque creature like the monster's he had once told him about. Then he would shout at him to leave, or he would run away from him, or slam a door in his face. Always, rage burned inside Frodo in wanting to scream back that he didn't care if he hated him anymore, and that all he had ever done for him was a lie, but he found himself too weak to respond. Other times Bilbo would simply vanish before he could get the words out.

These horrific dreams were still fresh in his mind when Frodo slowly began to regain himself. He was very dizzy, and the rough jostling of a familiar ride made him more so. He was sitting in front of Tony on a speeding horse, and as he opened his eyes, it took several laboring blinks before he was able to focus on the fuzzy green around him.

Green...the color was familiar. Then it hit him with an unbearable pang: The Shire. The woods of his home no longer brought a sense of comfort, but the reminder of why he was here. The failed exchange. The second letter they had made him write. The second attempt to ransom him for his uncle's wealth.

It felt as though cloth were stuffed in his ears, but he was able to gather snatches of what his kidnappers were saying. They were arguing, as usual. Something about Tony being angry Strasser let the lady tend to him, and thinking that they couldn't trust her. Strasser sounded something back that it didn't matter if she did. Tony muttered something inaudible, and then there was silence as an understanding was shared between them. Unknowingly, Frodo shared in the understanding too, that regardless of what happened in the second exchange, he would die at the end of it.

This fate no longer stabbed him with terror as it used too. He had known it would end this way. Survival was a chance that had never been in his own hands. It had just been a matter of time.

They were arguing again, but Frodo tried his best to block it out. He still couldn't believe that they were stupid and desperate enough to try and exchange him again. Hadn't his uncle's "NO!" rung just as clearly in their ears as it did his? Apparently not. Frodo doubted whether his uncle would even show up this time. The idea of him using the second letter he had written as scrap paper to jot down a new idea sounded more likely than his coming at all.

A lump started to form in his throat, and Frodo struggled with all the strength he had left to keep it down. In truth, he had never wanted hatred and despair to be the last he would feel before leaving this world. But it seemed impossible to feel anything else, even as drifted away into the gray fog once again.

They were going to kill each other if this didn't end soon.

From the first moment Frodo Baggins had the terrible misfortune to come upon Rob Strasser and Tony Chattin, he had been quick to observe a visible tension between them. On this night, that tension had never been so fierce.

Though Frodo would never know it, the two men that had partnered in kidnapping him had barely known each other beforehand. Bree was a village reputed for attracting a less than amiable crowd, and both had found their way there after running from the law in the south. They had both taken up thievery in Bree when the hobbit had first approached them with an interesting deal. Yet neither had ever agreed for the sake of each other's company, and after weeks composed of mistakes and failures, the tension between them had begun to mount to a dangerous point. The only thing that bound them at this point was their crazed greed, and the accursed hobbit with them.

"You shouldn't have brought Val into this," Tony retorted. "You may have just landed us in even more trouble."

"Oh stuff that, what's a worthless whore like her gonna do?"

"She isn't as hard as she looks," he muttered, fury stirring just under the surface of his voice. Exhaustion and fury was driving him blowing up at his stupid companion, cutting the imp's throat and just leaving, if not for the treasure that was soon to be his.

"What's it matter if she does talk," Strasser retorted. "It ain't like we're bringin' the imp back anyway."

Tony's mouth had already flown open and ready to protest whatever Strasser was about to say now. To his surprise, he couldn't help but agree with this statement. For the first time, an agreement was made between them. Both were too tired and desperate to deal with the halfling past tonight, and they were too vengeful for pity. Their plan was simple. Take the money. Kill the halfling.

Gradually, the surrounding forest became familiar until there was no doubt the trail they were on was the same that stopped at the top of the hill. Drawing closer, they got down from their horses.

"Are ye sure this is the spot?"

"Yes," Tony said, looking over the same bushes as before.

"What time did you tell 'im," Strasser said, shoving a sack over the halfling's head and tossing him carelessly to the ground.

"Later in the night."

"Then what'er you botherin' to look now for?" he grumbled.

Tony clenched his teeth together, trying to fight off his rising aggravation. "Just best to be cautious," he answered, coldly. "Just be glad one of us knows how to count when we divide up the treasure."

In the pale light, the ruffian's black eyes flashed, dangerously. He grabbed the other man by the shoulder of his coat, and yanked in him around, furiously.

"What's that s'pose to mean?" Strasser sneered.

"Nothing," Tony said, jerking out of the man's grip. "Just keep your trap shut."

"No, cuz I wanna know!" Strasser demanded, refusing to let his remark go. "You're the one that dragged this one so damn long, an' I'm the one stuck with dealin' with the little rat. If nothin' else, it should be more who gets more of the treasure!"

A smug look erupted on Tony's face. "With your intelligence, you wouldn't have been able to make your way here, and would've most likely snatched up the wrong imp."

"You bastard." Seething, Strasser latched onto his companion's collar, prepared to shake him in fury.

Suddenly, a sharp noise from behind them caught their attention. They both froze.

Bilbo cringed as his foot stepped on, and effectively crunched, a dried leaf. 'Dammit!'

He should have dropped his eyes while approaching the two bickering figures to examine the worthiness of the ground he stepped upon. Though he was wearing the ring, making him invisible to the eye, he was still vulnerable to sound. Just barely ten steps from his hiding spot, he'd already succeeded in catching their attention.

Both heads swung around, their eyes darting around, suspiciously, past the very place where he stood. He remained silent and unmoving.

For a moment, his eyes strayed from the men and clung to the small, unmoving bundle on the ground beside them.

Bilbo was seized with an overpowering urge to run past them now, gather up his boy and just bolt away.

But 'NO!' his hobbit sense screamed at him, even as his back muscles strained as he began to move forward. No, he couldn't. Not yet, not yet, not yet. If they heard him, they could surely catch him, and then it would all be over, for him as well as Frodo.

The thought stilled him in place.

Both men continued to eye the seemingly empty clearing, their knuckles white as they gripped their swords. Silence had resumed, with the exception of a few cheerful birds singing overhead.

"Could he be coming?"

Tony stood hard as a stone. "If he is, then he's early."

A fresh sound of rustling put them on guard again, but they relaxed when a harmless bunny hopped out from behind a bush.

"Little bastard," Tony breathed, putting his sword back.

They relaxed too soon. Suddenly, a loud crack came from behind them, and they turned again at the curious sound. This time, however, it was not a bunny, nor the wind, nor even Bilbo, but a rock he had retrieved and taken careful aim to throw at a bush behind them.

They were now facing away from him, surveying the ground where the rock had fallen. Bilbo watched, hoping that it would draw at least one of them away to find the source of the noise. His frustration mounted when they didn't make a move any farther away from Frodo.

"That warn't no rabbit," Strasser hissed, continuing to look around, his wild, shaggy hair flying round his face. "What's goin' on?" he muttered, unleashing his sword again. "There's someone here, can sense 'im. But I don't see no one. Do ye suppose they've got halfling magic, or somethin'?"

Tony snorted. "Halfling's don't have magical powers, no more than men. They also lack the dignified intelligence that men possess." He huffed in an afterthought. "Under that definition, perhaps you'd fit in better if you joined them."

A growl of mad rage rumbled in the ruffian's throat, and the sword that had been swinging away at bushes suddenly went to Tony's chest.

"Back off," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. His huge frame shook. "Don't you even think about startin' with me right now, or there won't be jus' this one's death tonight."

The smaller man froze as the tip of the sword brushed across his vest. "C'mon lay off," he muttered, inwardly cursing himself for putting away his own sword. "This ain't the time for it."

"Oh, I think it is," Strasser sneered.

Stepping forwards, he aimed to stab the sword through the other's heart. Through a swift movement, Tony ducked and sprang away , crashing into a nearby bush. His hands scrabbled for his own sword, and Bilbo could see his eyes wide in fear at his companion's fury now lay on him, and him alone. Already the wild-haired man was storming towards him, and he backed away, ducking again as the sword whipped past the air where his neck had just been. Somehow, they both managed to grab a hold of the sword. They began wrestling with the blade, furiously, backing away from the clearing, momentarily lost from sight.

Bilbo seized his chance. Rushing forwards, he scooped up Frodo's small limp body in his arms, and bolted down the hill.

Mere seconds passed before Bilbo heard the enraged voice screaming, "He's escaped!" followed by the sounds of branches cracking and growling behind him. With a heart hammering in his chest, Bilbo ran faster down the hill, knowing they had paused from their fighting to follow him. He could hear the violent thrashing of bushes getting closer, mere feet behind him now.

Terror gripped him as he continued to flee, knowing that even with the light burden of Frodo's weight, he was too small to out-run them. And while he was invisible, Frodo was not.....

It was a decision made without thought, and without delay. There was no time for either.

Emerging into the clearing, Bilbo scurried away to a small bush nearby and laid the boy beside it. Looking up quickly, he saw the branches flipping sideways as a great force shoved them aside. They were ready to burst open.

Bilbo jerked the ring from his finger just as one of the ruffians appeared, and, lifting Frodo's hand, he slipped the ring on his own.

His boy vanished.

Catching his breath, Bilbo rose from the ground. Before him stood the same ruffian as before. Yet as Bilbo whipped out Sting, ready to fight, he saw that the man wasn't advancing on him at all but instead stood frozen, his hideous face twisted in shock as he watched one hobbit vanish, and another appear right before his eyes.

"You," Strasser said, hoarsely.

Bilbo wasted now time. Praying that the ruffian wouldn't realize that Frodo was still lying there, just invisible from sight, he darted back into the brush with remarkable speed, Sting clutched tightly in his hand.

He waited for the man to follow. But a quiet groan caught both their attentions, and Bilbo peered out through some leaves to see the second man, Tony Chattin, stumble down into the clearing. He was groaning softly, and clutching a bleeding side where Strasser's sword had caught him.

"What...happened?" he asked, thickly. "Where did he go?"

"He disappeared!" Strasser whispered, still staring at the ground in bewilderment.

"Dammit," Tony gasped, leaning heavily onto a branch of a tree. He clutched his side, harder. "What do you mean?"

"He," Strasser's voice was hoarse with fear, and he backed away clumsily. "He jus' vanished! He vanished, jus' like that!"

Tony groaned again, dipping his narrow chin into his chest. "That can't be – " Tony broke off in a groan. "You're just seeing things."

This unintentional mockery brought fresh fury to Strasser, and he turned around. "I'm not! I know what I saw, an' it was real! That other hobbit....the imp's uncle...he was here! I saw 'im! An then he vanished!"

"Forget him, where's the boy?"

"He's gone!" he shrieked, looking around, wildly. "How can that be? How can they disappear?" He turned back to Tony, and raised his sword. "You niver said they could do that!"

"They can't!" Tony protested, anxiously, still clutching his bleeding middle. "You're just drunk and crazy!"

From his hiding place, Bilbo shaded his eyes from the horrible sight. The ruffian went off in a rage, ripping and tearing at his hair like a wild animal and screaming. "I'm not! An' look, he's gone! It's over! This whole thing were a waste! It's all come to nothin, NOTHIN'!"

"Just follow the other one – " Bilbo heard the other one gasp.

There was a short, choking sound, and then silence. Slowly, Bilbo peered out to see the wild-haired ruffian standing over the other, who now lay on the ground, a sword embedded in his chest.

Tony Chattin was dead.

The second passed slowly. Strasser hovered over him, his enormous shoulders falling up and down as he panted. Bending down, he ripped the sword from the man's chest, and turned. His eyes found Bilbo, while the hobbit's head was peering out from behind a nearby tree.

"You," he sneered.

His fist clutched his sword, murder written in his black, beady eyes. He stormed towards him....and tripped over Frodo. His back arched as he stumbled, and his arms flailed before he fell flat on his face.

Before Bilbo allowed him to figure out what it was he had just tripped over, he rushed forward, his own sword ready to land a blow while his enemy was down.

It took only a moment for Strasser to regain himself, however, and as he staggered up, he saw the enraged hobbit charging at him. Roaring, he slashed down with his own sword. While still staggering to regain his feet completely, the swing was aimed clumsily and Bilbo was quick to duck.

Growling at his missed aim, Strasser stood, his feet firmly planted, and swung up again. Bilbo sprung back and quickly darted away to the opposite end of the clearing to take the fight away from Frodo. He hoped to be able to gain some time and whip out his smaller sword, but the man was fast behind him. In the second he had to think before darting aside again as the man tried to tackle him, he plotted that he could perhaps run away and lose the man that way. But there was no way he could leave. He was alone to fight.

Suddenly, Bilbo sensed a huge presence behind him, and he ducked. The man towered over him, but he swiftly rolled aside. As he did, he made a quick stab at the man's leg. To his dismay, the man's coat was so thick and long that Sting failed to penetrate deep enough to injure him.

Growling again, Strasser leaned to down to grab at him. It was the swift nature given to all hobbits that gave Bilbo the ability to duck and scramble away again from his slower and clumsy enemy. Unfortunately, this ability did not give him the ability to injure him. As both began to pant in the effort of the fight, Bilbo realized with a despairing hear that he could not win this fight. His eyes darted to the bush near where Frodo lay.

Suddenly, the ruffian swung his sword down, and Bilbo ducked again. The sword came down faster than he'd anticipated, and Bilbo felt a sharp pain as the blade caught him on his forearm. It was a small cut, but it left Bilbo momentarily stunned. Before he could react, a sharp kick sent him sprawling.

He hit the ground hard, the thick scent of grass invading his nostrils. Instantly, he sprang up, the pain forgotten, and he vaguely wondered why the man hadn't killed him when he was down.

His answer greeted him as he stood. Strasser was several feet away from him, heaving as he bent down, clutching his leg. He soon collapsed onto this hands and knees, and Bilbo's eyes widened in shock to see an arrow planted firmly in the back of his shin.

"Unarm yourself!" a deep, powerful voice commanded, and Bilbo and the ruffian turned in astonishment to see two men standing at the other end of the clearing, their bows raised.

Before Bilbo could even react to this sudden shock, he felt a hand upon his shoulder and jumped. Later he would feel a pain in his neck from where the muscle pulled at the speed he turned his head.

By the Shire, it was Samwise Gamgee!

"Sir, get back," the boy breathed, making an effort to pull Bilbo back. His eyes lingered fearfully upon the man cursing nearby.

"Sam, what are you doing here?" Bilbo exclaimed.

Another pair of hands suddenly grasped him, this time beneath the armpits, and Bilbo jumped again. As he was dragged away, he watched in utter disbelief as a great party of men, ten he counted, began to emerge from all ends of the clearing through the thicket. One even passed right beside him. They all wore long, dark cloaks, and were armed with bows and arrows.

Partially recovered from the shock of the last five seconds, Bilbo turned to see it had been Hamfast Gamgee who had dragged him away to safety.

"Hamfast...going on...what?" he spluttered.

"They're rangers from Bree, sir," Hamfast said, his tone hard as he watched the men move in upon the ruffian. "They came by this evenin' to inform you that someone from Bree claimed the kidnappers were comin' back this very night, an' they followed. Sure enough, they found a trail leadin' straight here to the Shire."

Bilbo was only half-listening, his attention now frozen on the rangers as they cornered the man. By this time, the ruffian had looked up to see that he was quickly being surrounded, and he made a pathetic attempt to shrink within his coat and mangy hair.

"I order you to release your weapon," the ranger from before spoke, his tone serious and commanding. "If you do not, we will be forced to shoot."

Strasser swivelled his head around to see it were the same rangers he'd been avoiding in Bree that were cornering him now. His whole frame shook in fury and terror at his capture, and as they closed upon him, he sprang forwards. Stabbing away madly at the rangers, he was able to catch one in the arm and then staggered swiftly into the forest, dragging his one injured leg behind him.

"Seize him!" the ranger ordered. The men were already darting after him. Their black capes flew behind him as they went, leaving the clearing deserted, with the exception of the two rangers and the hobbits.

"Sir, why didn't you tell us you were comin' here?" Hamfast asked, now that they were at liberty to speak.

He paused to see that his master was no longer listening. In fact, his master was no longer there. At seeing the men dash away after the ruffian, soon to be caught, and knowing there was nothing left he could do, he had bolted away to the other end of the clearing.

Hamfast was about to follow him when a sudden howl broke through the forest, loud and terrible, stilling him in place. A chill went through him at the sound and Sam, who had begged to come along, clutched his hand tighter. Two of the men returned and went to their leader, who Hamfast had spoken to earlier.

It had been astonishing, to say the least, when he had opened the door that evening to a group of men outside his home. After all that had happened, Hamfast had first feared they might very well be the kidnappers, if not for Milo Proudfeet with them. He had been one of the hobbits that joined in the search for Frodo's kidnappers in Bree, and he was quick to reassure Hamfast that the men came in good peace. They were rangers from Bree, he claimed, and had been good enough to aid the hobbits in their search. But Milo went on to say that there was no time for questions, and hurriedly demanded to know where Bilbo was.

They had grown anxious when Hamfast informed them that he didn't know. While a few went to search the area around Bag End, Milo stayed and explained how they had come across a woman in Bree who claimed she had just tended to a sick, but alive Frodo Baggins, and that the men who had taken him had just left. A search was immediately conducted, bringing them back to the Shire, where Hamfast quickly led them to the spot where the first exchange had taken place. To their relief, that was just where they found Bilbo and the kidnappers.

"Sir, may I ask what happened?" Hamfast inquired, as the rangers approached him.

"The man has been subdued," informed the leader, brushing his cloak back. "My men here claim that they had to shoot him a second time in order to stop him, but he has since been caught."

"The other one has been found dead, sir," answered one of the younger rangers. "Stabbed through the heart by his own companion, it seems."

"May I ask what is to happen now?" Hamfast couldn't mask his curiosity on what was to be the fate of the ruffian.

"We will now take him back to Bree where he will be jailed. Then he will be returned to the south, and it will be out of my hands as to what will be done with him. He will be charged for numerous crimes of theft and murder he's wanted for in addition to kidnapping. But first, my little sir," the man said, and his tone softened suddenly, "I must speak on behalf of all my men in giving you my deepest apologizes for allowing this terrible tragedy to occur. The land just beyond yours is unfortunately populated by rascals who come from the south, and there are too few of us now to guard your peaceful land from them."

"I thank you for what you've done, sir," Hamfast said, but paused in speaking more when he heard Sam call his name.

Turning, his eyes found Sam at the other end of the clearing. He was standing next to Bilbo, who was now kneeling down beside a small figure on the ground.

Bilbo's hands were shaking furiously as he warred between crushing Frodo to him and being intricately gentle as he gathered the boy in his arms.

"Elbereth," Bilbo whispered. He was so light. Arms dangled like broken twigs at his side, and his body was so limp and frail....it was though he were holding a doll rather than his nephew.

Bilbo's fingers felt thick and clumsy as he fumbled to remove the sack that covered his head.

The sack was removed....and Bilbo slumped forward as defeat overpowered him at last.

"Oh no." His words were lost in his throat as he took in all of his worst fears confirmed, and more.

Frodo's face was ghastly pale. The pale light of the moon did nothing but further wash away any color that was left in the pinched, wasted features. Dark bruises and scrapes stood out all the more starkly against the deathly hue. Blood stained the filthy rags that had once been the clothes Bilbo had last seen him wearing, and one sleeve was ripped away completely to be replaced with a cloth bandage. A similar cloth had been used to bandage his other hand.

It was beyond devastating. But more than anything, Bilbo couldn't tear his eyes away from the boy's slack features. And he was so, so frail...he felt like a nothing weight in Bilbo's arms.

"Frodo," he choked, cradling the boy's head in the crook of his arm.

For a moment, panic seized him in the thought that Frodo was dead, and he brought a hand up to feel his forehead near a bruise. A sigh of relief escaped him to feel warmth, and looking closer he could see the shallow rise and fall of the boy's chest, reassuring him that he was alive. But his eyes were firmly closed, and he remained unresponsive.

"Sir, you saved him!" Hamfast's relieved voice spoke behind him, and he could hear Sam sobbing as well. Both voices sounded muffled against the deafening silence of his nephew.

"Frodo!" Bilbo said again, this time more insistently. Grabbing onto the small semblance of calm he had left, Bilbo steadied his voice and clutched the boy tighter to him.

"Frodo, wake up!" he called.

No response.

"Come on, my boy, please! It's all right now. You're safe. Just open your eyes!"

Frodo felt as though he were suffocating in a block of ice, if that were possible. After dark dreams had claimed him once more, he had drifted back into the ghostly haze, where everything was cold and every breath he took was like inhaling ice crystals. They cut into his throat, choking him. He couldn't even feel the pain in his hand now that his whole body felt numb with cold and he couldn't breathe.

"Frodo.....Frodo!" a voice called, sounding dull and very far away.

'Oh no,' he thought, despair rising in him. It was dragging him back to himself again. He didn't want to go back, at least when he was dreaming or drifting, the pain wasn't as bad.

But the voice continued to call him, and the piercing pains in his body grew worse. An enormous pressure in chest signaled another fit, and he began to cough violently. His throat burned, no longer able to withstand the onslaught of his coughs. Vaguely, Frodo wondered why his body wasn't jerking the way it usually did. His head grew a little bit clearer, and he realized that he was being held by firm, but gentle arms.

Was the lady back? he wondered. He didn't remember going back to Bree, but then maybe his waking up and thinking he was in the Shire hadn't actually happened. Maybe he was still with the lady, and it would be all right if he opened his eyes.

It took some effort to part his dry, crusty lashes, and he had to blink several times to clear away the foggy mist in them before he was able to make out the figure that was holding him, his face looming preciously close to his.

Bilbo.

Mad terror latched onto him and he gasped. His lungs burned in response.

No, no, not another dream! Frodo snapped his eyes shut before Bilbo's face crumbled into another red-eyed, slimy monster. If only they would just stop, he couldn't take it anymore! He was too weak to face his uncle again, his strength to fight him had died even in his dreams. Almost in answer to this point, he coughed again.

"Frodo! Frodo, please just look at me! Open your eyes again!"

The words were clearer now, but no, no, he wasn't going to fall for that, he wasn't going to open his eyes to see Bilbo grinning at his pain.

Another rumbling in his chest made him cough again, and his throat seared in pain.

Then it suddenly occurred to Frodo that he couldn't be dreaming....not with such brutal pains in his chest.

'But wait,' Frodo thought, his thoughts still fuzzy and slow. That would mean...

'WHAT?!'

A great jolt of lightning seemed to go through him, and he found himself trapped, unable to escape into the foggy world as memory returned to him.

Waking up in the Shire...their stupid attempt to exchange him again....What had happened since then? he wanted to scream. What was he doing here? How was it possible Bilbo had given them his wealth, let alone even bothered to come?

What was happening?

Frodo wracked his mind for answers that he did not know. But whatever had happened, he now found himself inexplicably awake, alive, and trapped in his uncle's arms.

It was too much to believe.....yet here he was.

"Frodo" Bilbo called, this time more forcefully, jolting him out of his thoughts.

Then, like a fresh stream of fire, the fury and hatred that had been building within him for days and had been useless until this moment began to stir. Everything from the moment he'd first been grabbed until now came back to him in all its horrific detail. Frodo's chest burned, no longer with pain, but fury.

It was humiliating how he was being given this moment, and he was too weak to fight. Instead, Frodo mustered up all the emotion that burned within him and looked up at the uncle who had lied to him, abandoned him, and left him to die. He scowled.

"Frodo, please answer me!" Bilbo called for seemingly the hundredth time. He had nearly collapsed in relief when at long last, the boy had stirred and opened his eyes. Yet no sooner had he looked at him that he flinched and snapped his eyes shut again. Anxiously, Bilbo watched as Frodo's face darkened and he began to thrash weakly in his hold.

Bilbo frowned, his mind wracked in confusion. One of Frodo's hands managed to lift and he began flailing it, uselessly. Bilbo caught it, and tenderly tucked it to his side, so the boy didn't hurt himself with his thrashing. But he kept scowling, and refused to respond to Bilbo's calls.

Then a dark fear came upon him. 'Oh no, does he think he's still with the kidnappers? He doesn't recognize me,' Bilbo realized in horror. Looking down at the boy again, his face grimaced in worry and mounting concern.

"Sir, is he all right?" Hamfast asked, from over his shoulder.

Bilbo wasn't sure how to answer that, but determination quickly set in. He wasn't going to keep Frodo in this nightmare a moment longer.

Readjusting the boy in his arms, he lifted him into a more sitting position so that Frodo's face was closer to his.

"Frodo, it's me," he said, firmly. "It's just Uncle Bilbo. Everything's all right now, you're safe."

But Frodo continued to struggle, oblivious to his words, and he continued to glare at him as though he were someone else entirely.

Frodo's throat constricted as he tried to answer his uncle that he knew who he was, and he wasn't stupid, and he could stop telling him his name now. Unfortunately, his throat was so parched and sore that his throat muscles wouldn't work and all he could do was dispel inarticulate grunts and groans.

Looking up, he tried to scrunch his face up further, trying to convey his fury to his uncle, who just stared at him in confusion.

Oh, it was hopeless, Frodo finally realized and gave up in the effort. He slumped back in despair, panting and coughing.

Suddenly, Bilbo's hand came up and Frodo flinched, terrified. Here it came, the furious blow, or maybe he was about to grab his hair again like he'd done in one of his dreams.

The feel of a warm, wrinkled hand appeared on his forehead, brushing away the limp locks there, and then placed a firm palm upon his brow.

'What?' Frodo heard himself asking. Confusion of his own started to buzz madly in his head, and grew enormously stronger as the hand moved down his face to cup his bony cheek and begin stroking it, softly.

What was going on, why wasn't his uncle hurting him? Questions, more in the form of challenges, scrambled in his

mind as he fought off how comforting the hand felt. It wasn't true!

'But then why isn't he hurting you?' a distant voice asked. Well, to be fair, Frodo couldn't help but admit that his uncle had never actually hit him, that had been the Bilbo in the dreams. But the spirit was the same, his uncle had rejected him for the sake of his treasure, he didn't care for him at all.

What was he doing here now, then? It was the annoying voice in the back of his mind again.

Bilbo had resumed calling his name, pleading for him to open his eyes. Frodo kept them squeezed tightly shut, thinking it was the wise thing to do.

Yet no matter how certain he'd felt before, confusion was now swimming in him along with the fear. Reluctancy was making its way firmly into the mix of emotions as well. For since the hatred for his uncle had began to manifest, he had been comforted in thinking about what he would curse and shout at his uncle if he ever got the chance. But he never had truly believed he would see him again to articulate himself. Underneath, he had always known he was going to die.

Suddenly waking up to that moment, and his uncle being less than horrible...in fact, he was being rather comforting even if it was just a lie....

'I'm crazy and stupid,' Frodo thought in alarm, as the hostility he had been feeling for his uncle these last days started to fade, and was replaced with fear. He was scared of what was about to happen next. Now he was at the mercy of his uncle, and that might be a fate far worse than what the ruffian's planned.

Frodo began to shake, uncontrollably.

His uncle saw this, and in response clutched him harder. Frodo inwardly flinched again, but after a slight hesitation, cracked open a single eye. He was more than a little taken aback to see neither fury nor irritation, but unmistakable worry etched into his uncle's weary face as he shushed him, softly.

"Shh, shh, Frodo, it's all right, it's just me. The bad men are gone now. You're safe."

Without warning, a tumult of disbelief...and joy...flooded Frodo at these words.

'They were gone?'

Even though it had been safe to assume that since Bilbo was here, then the kidnappers were therefore NOT, hearing it brought the fact to life. Was it true? Frodo craned his head slightly, and looked about him. They weren't there. It was over.

'It's over,' he repeated in his head, feeling dizzy as the words sank in. '.....well, at least that part,' he couldn't help but add, bitterly. Yet even as he cautioned himself, waves of warm relief were flowing through him and he couldn't stop it.

They were gone. Both of them. They were gone.

"Frodo, please, please just say something! C'mon, you can do it, they're gone now, it's all right...."

'It's all right now?' Frodo repeated, bewildered not only by his uncle's words, but by the sincerity in which he spoke them. How could it be all right? Fresh sorrow came over him. How could it be, after all he'd done to him? How could his uncle say that?

Frodo looked up, searching his eyes for the hobbit that had given him up, the hobbit who had joined Tony and Strasser in hurting him in just dreams. His discouragement grew worse when all he saw was his uncle, looking down at him with fear livid in his exhausted face.

For a moment, Frodo felt the hold on him lessen, and triumph flared in him in thinking that his uncle was letting him go. But looking down, he realized it was because the arms that held him were shaking.

Fear latched onto him again, and he still dreaded that at any moment, his uncle's face would crumble into the monster. For some reason, he couldn't look away, but instead stared in confusion and wonder at how old Bilbo looked. In all his life, he'd never seen him look so old, so worn, so sad. He looked much like....well, certainly not the seething monster in his dreams or even the bored, annoyed uncle he'd seen before walking out the door that day. Rather, he looked like the old Bilbo, from before all of this had happened.

To his unease, a part of him positively ached in reminder.

"My dear lad, please, just say something!" Bilbo choked. His throat was clogged with tears. He didn't know how much longer he could keep talking without completely breaking down. His vision was blurring as he continued to watch Frodo's eyes stare blankly, confused, and completely silent.

For all the love in the world, what was wrong, why wouldn't Frodo say something? Why wouldn't he acknowledge him? Or couldn't he?

'Oh Elbereth, what have they done to him?'

"Frodo, I'm sorry," he whispered, tears blurring his vision as the weight of everything came upon him in one great crash. He did this. This was HIS fault. Anything that had happened....anything that Frodo had been through....it was as though he had done it. "I'm so, so sorry."

Frodo couldn't believe what he was hearing when those words reached his ears.

Of everything he had dreamed and expected his uncle to say to him in this moment..... it had NEVER been that. Never the thought of him apologizing? And he was crying. . .

Frodo watched in bewilderment as his uncle's face started to crumble. His head pitched down as though he could no longer support it, and his chin fell to his chest. Then the tears had begun to fall from his eyes.

When he had lay, sick and dying in the attic in Bree, Frodo would have thought this moment meant the greatest triumph. Even now, Frodo didn't really understand why he didn't feel happy at his uncle's misery.

Inside, the warm feeling that had come at hearing the men were gone started to grow, and overthrew any thoughts of vengeance. But no, he couldn't believe that! He couldn't!

The annoying voice came back. Why, then, was Bilbo holding him, stroking his face with warm hands, whispering nonstop words of comfort as though he were _truly_ sorry?

Warmth was spreading through him faster, and Frodo struggled in Bilbo's arms against it, trying to ward off the questions that were running through him. That maybe there actually wasn't anything left to fear, that maybe he'd been wrong, even a little bit....again, the arms that held him tightened, preventing him from physically struggling from the relief that was assaulting him, and winning.

Finally, he couldn't stop it, and Frodo watched as all the images of his uncle hurting him in his dreams pulled away until there was nothing but what was happening right then and there. And that was that it was over, the ruffians were gone, and Bilbo was peering anxiously into his face, looking as though he was about to collapse if he didn't say something.

"Bilbo?" he croaked. If there was anything. . .a rebuke. . .anything.. . .he'd die.

But there wasn't. Instead, relief like nothing he'd ever seen before washed over his uncle's withered face and he brought his hand up again to Frodo's cheek. "Yes, my boy. It's me."

Frodo burst into tears.

It felt like the stupidest thing he could possibly do, and quickly he tried to regain himself. But then his uncle's arms were tightening around him, and Frodo felt himself lifted and crushed in a suffocating embrace. A hand was on the back of his head, burying his face in his uncle's vest, and as the familiar scent of dough and pipe weed hit him, he couldn't stop the endless tears of misery and terror that poured out of him.

Too choked himself for words, Bilbo sat, rocking the boy as he cried. For the sake of his nephew, who was listless and depended upon him for support, Bilbo tried to stop his own shaking and let relief settle into him that it was over.

At this time the rangers had returned and watched from a distance, Hamfast and Sam close by. Their hearts all went out to the hobbit who was oblivious to their stares, too lost in rocking the child as he sobbed.

TBC


	25. Revelations

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

E-Mail: 

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: The characters that compose Middle Earth are not mine, but the property of one J.R.R. Tolkien.

A/N: THANKS TO ALL WHO REVIEWED!! Know that you all made my week! I had no idea so many were reading, and I really appreciate that you revealed yourselves for the first time in this latest chapter (GIRLOFRING, ladybug, Arowyn, WildFire203, Mrs. Maggot, Little Magic Lamb, Luthien Linareil, rinalry, map, Grimnir, Cara, Fennelwink, tufail).

You couldn't have had better timing. You all truly warmed my heart with your kind words. :)

As promised, I wanted to address some of the questions that I had a feeling would spark up after the last chapter.

1st: Bilbo's ring and the scene where he puts it on Frodo to hide him. In writing that scene, I hoped to demonstrate how Bilbo's love for Frodo overpowers everything, including his 'treasures,' and the ring obviously represents the greatest treasures he acquired on his travels. As to Frodo's reaction to having it on his finger, Frodo was unconscious at the time. So he was not aware he had it on, nor will he even discover its existence until later. Also, considering that this story is based before Sauron's awakening, Bilbo (or Frodo) having the ring on would not trap them in the dark world, as it is in FoTR. I hope that clears up some questions. No, Frodo did not claim the ring or anything or will he feel possession over it later, he was too out of it. :)

2nd: I apologize to those who nearly had heart-attacks at 'The End' joke. That's a classic example of why I write angst, not humor. I'm not so good at it.

Now, after chapter 25, I think it's a good time that I emphasize that yes, Frodo has now been saved, but the story is not over. Although the storyline so far has been primarily concerned with the kidnapping, the main focus I'm trying to concentrate on are the relationships between the characters, Frodo, Merry, Bilbo, etc. There's a lot more that has to happen (Merry's return, Frodo and Bilbo reconciling, etc.) and (please don't shoot me for this!) there is going to be a combination of angst as well as comfort ahead. I am unfortunately a realist when it comes to writing, and because of that I don't think it would be possible for the complicated issues that have been developing even before the story begins to be resolved within anything less than fifteen chapters. Frodo and Bilbo are going to make mistakes on the road to developing better communication skills, and the huge misunderstandings that have developed between them will take time to be righted. So the road to the happy ending is not going to be the smoothest trip, but I promise it WILL happen and all will be resolved and at peace, and it will be a happy tale by the time I finally put the pen quill down (ack, I mean the pencil).

3rd: Many have asked about a sequel. In answer to that question, I will definitely consider it. I just started a story about Frodo having migraines (can't get enough of Frodo angst, though if you care for a less than traumatic Bilbo and Frodo relationship, that one will have Frodo and Bilbo sweetness through and through!) But as for a 'Treasures' sequel, let me finish this one first and then I'll see. :)

Chloe Amethyst: Danke for the review! "Bilbo mistook it for Frodo imagining the kidnappers still had him": Glad you liked that part! I just couldn't break Bilbo's heart with the fact that Frodo's furious with him when they'd just reunited, it had to be a sweet scene.

WildFire203: "I think the traitor is Ted Sandyman": You do, do you? Well read on and see! :)

Budgielover: "I hope Bilbo comes to understand Frodo's anger at him and transfers that blame to himself, and feels he has to make it up to Frodo": Yay, you're back! On that part, yes, Bilbo's unfortunately going to face another walk through the mire (I'm so hard on my characters!) as he comes to terms with how Frodo's suffered on his account, and how much it broke the lad to think he didn't care for him. Their reconciliation will happen, and all will come out, but it's going to be slow as Bilbo struggles to figure out how he can protect Frodo and care for him at the same time, and Frodo's going to get the shocks of his life hearing about everything that's been going on in his absence, and what it's done to his 'annoyed' uncle. So yes, 'lingering distrust' will occur, though all will be forgiven and reconciled in the end. I be waiting most earnestly for chapter 24 of 'Some Nameless Place!' :)

Fionarox: "I expect people will be writing fan fiction about this piece of fanfiction in the future": LoL, Fiona! We'll see!

Niphrandl: Niphrandl! Welcome back! Glad you did not abandon the story! Frodo healing and Frodo/Bilbo reconciliation be in the works, though please don't abandon me again if it's not the smoothest road there. :)

Obelia Medusa: Ahh! There you are! And hey, I'm not joking about the fiction realist! There in fact be a name for those who throw in random details, and yes, it does ring a tone much more clear and intriguing than 'person-who-can't-stop-developing-whatever-minor-characters-catch-her-interest-' (I loved that!) And yes, isn't the title of the chapter articulate? I suppose after all the random detail I put into it, I don't feel the need to enlighten the reader more with anything more than a one-word title. Thanks for the touching review!

QTPie-2488: Glad you liked the chapter! I'm sorry I pained you for so long! Frodo comfort makings its way into the story, though a bit slowly. :)

Tiggivon: Hey there! No, no, your initial reaction's not ridiculous at all, it was very welcome! I'm soo glad you loved it!

Luthien Linariel: Hey there! (A newcomer!) You said it right, that's what I was intending, that the ring still hasn't awoken to Sauron's call at this point in the time line, so having it on does not throw the wearer into the shadow world. Thanks for clearing that up for me. :)

Rinalry: Hey there! I hope the answer up above explains all. Yeah, Frodo's too out of it to really realize he had it on, though he'll find out what happened later on. A new story for Bilbo to tell him.

Aemilia Rose: Thanks to you, my 500th reviewer! You're right, Frodo sure as hell needs some comfort at this point! He will get it, I promise, to the point he'll be exasperated at his reformed, over-attentive uncle. And no, no, no ending yet! Prepare thyself for more to come (bad AND good, more than ever before) story not over yet!

ShadowGraffiti: CrystalHorse72! There you are, I remember you well! And hell yes, I looked at your review! To know I made your parents think you're insane and you rush to every computer to check for updates....there's nothing I could have been more moved by as a writer. I'm glad you're still I had feared you'd slipped away after the chapters of endless misery. Am glad to know that's not the case. Please, review anytime! BellaMonte's a selfish, greedy creature just like Tony and Strasser and (traitor hobbit). BellaMonte writes faster when she gets reviews! So, thank you for this one! It was greatly appreciated. :)

Shlee Verde: You be loopy again? Yay! Me too! Hehehee.! "I wasn't expecting Strasser to kill Tony - but I guess one of the two was liable to kill the other by the end of this": Yeah, I felt as though one had to go. :) And yesss, traitor hobbit time! So I'm going to stop speaking here again and detaining you. hehehe!!

Arwen Baggins: "But where's Strider?": Sadly, not in this story. The ranger leader be not Aragorn, nor Faramir, nor Boromir. He's just one of the commanding men who tries to bring order to Bree. Really?? You didn't think it shouldn't have taken so long for Frodo to go through his transformation? Now you've surprised me, I thought it was too short considering the weight of everything that's happened!

Frodo Baggins of Bag End: OMG! OMG! (Grovels down before one of my all time favorite writers, inspirations, and founder of FrodoHealers) Febobe, I had NO IDEA you were reading!! I literally jumped out of my seat to find your review! I promise, hobbit healing/cuddling is on the way, though it'll have some bumpy spots. Also, while I have your attention, please o please continue with Counterpane! I've had my eyes glued to your story since chapter 1!

Heartofahobbit: Hey Heartofahobbit! "Will Frodo reveal to Bilbo how utterly abandoned he felt and how his own "trust issues" were so shaken by his perception of Bilbo's betrayal?": Of course he will. :) But Frodo's admitting to Bilbo what he was fearing the whole time is going to be one of the last things he admits, because it's the hardest to admit. Frodo's coming clean about everything that's happened is going to take several chapters to fully come out, as he slowly recovers and gradually comes to realize how many people love him and were grieving for him while he was gone. But it'll be slow, because even with the initial happy reunion, there's so many communication issues between them and there's the dramatic irony of what each of them thinks and the readers knows, but they don't say to the other character. So...it's going to be complicated, but it WILL come out, and that'll be another (hopefully moving, happy) scene. Ahh... you have a second question! (Sorry this is so long!) "What will Bilbo do to mend his ways and will he try to conform a little bit more to the norms of hobbit society to become more of a parent figure to Frodo?" (Takes deep breath, I'll try and make this short): Well, not to spoil anything for you, but Bilbo despite his best efforts IS going to make a few mistakes along the way still in parenting, mistakes are unfortunately inevitable, but it will all turn out in the end. The relationship between Frodo and Bilbo will be much different after everything that's happened, considering how much they've both gone through. Frodo's not going to be naive the way he was before, but the experience will, eventually, make him stronger. Bilbo in turn is going to be a heck of a lot more attentive to Frodo, to the point of the most over-protective parent figure on Middle Earth. Phew! Sorry that took so long! Thanks for the awesome review!

Fennelwink: Greetings, Fennelwink! Yay! My persistent begging prompted you! I should do it more often now, shant I? :) "Now for all that messy clean-up which can sometimes take longer than the actual ordeal": In this story, yes, that will almost be the case. I'm hoping everyone doesn't kill me because the story doesn't wrap up fast, in fact it doesn't really wrap up at all for a while, but yes, it's going to take Bilbo and Frodo a long while to clear up all the misunderstandings, and not without help from others. So you're waiting for a long haul! Good! Because that's what I've got planned! I'm glad you liked that last scene, I was very worried it wouldn't come off believable. But yes, you said it just as I intended it, that though Frodo is so scared and angry at his uncle, he can't fight the fact that he still loves his uncle and at the first sign of apology from him, he couldn't help but break down. Thanks for the review, it is greatly appreciated! :)

Ubiquitous Pitt: (grovels down before you) I'm sorry! I really did not intent, when I first mapped this chapter out over a year ago, that I would have readers grieving over a villain! But wait! (Winks) You get to what you said you'd do, and I'll work on that AU. Just don't leave me! :)

Ilmare: Thank you thank you for the review, Ilmare! I had feared I'd lost you along the way! I'm glad you liked the chapter, sorry it took a whole damn year to get Bilbo and Frodo back together! :)

TMMEOW1: I promise! I promise! (Puts hands up in reassurance) I am NOT intending to leave the story. Sorry, that "The End" was not as funny as I'd hoped! "Treatment, comfort and understanding MUST happen": I promise. They will. In time. :)

Shadowarwen: Thank you for the review, Shadowarwen! It's marvelous to read a review from someone new! I'm glad you liked the chapter! :)

Fantasy Fan: Woah, thanks for the loong review, Fantasy Fan! I think I'm ready to just about give up writing A/N's in explanation, though, because you articulate exactly what I was trying to say in each chapter perfectly. Thank you soo much for letting me know it came out right. :) I'm glad you didn't think it was too long, you're right, I had a lot to flesh out in this chapter and I couldn't concise it anymore. You anticipated me again about the rescue, it wasn't enough that Bilbo saved Frodo, but I just had to get some good men into the picture, as well as Hamfast and Sam returning to help Bilbo even when he didn't expect it (kind of like Merry and Pippin in FoTR w/ Frodo :) I must thank you so much for your thoughts on the Bilbo/Frodo reunion, you won't believe how much fear I had that the scene wouldn't come off believably, and yet you interpreted perfectly how I hoped it would come out. Thank you so much! :)

LilyBaggins: Wrung my toes in cyberspace? Ouch! Never felt more glad I'm not a sadist writer (well, at least not to the point that this chapter ended badly :) Heaps of comfort on its way ....it will have some hedges to break through and bumps....but it will come, I promise!

Shirebound: Welcome back! Am so glad you're still here! "In your next chapter can Frodo be fed and cleaned and cuddled and happy and all those lovely things? Pleze?": (Okay, BellaMonte waves as Shirebound disappears again) Read on and see. I dare not spoil. We will get some Frodo cuddle in this chapter. The rest be coming in time. :)

Midgette: Hey Midgette! "So who exactly is the traitor hobbit? Somebody they know closely?": Read on below. I dare not spoil you! :)

Madeleine Mitchell Carr: Wow! You've been reading from the beginning? Ahh....well, perfectly understandable reason as to wait to review. It took me long enough to rescue Frodo, didn't it? :)

Endymion: Hey Endymion! In that scene where Bilbo carries Frodo, I was thinking of RoTK (you've read that, right?) And in that scene, Frodo fights with Gollum, and technically they're interlocked but Gollum is still visible, so I figured as much that yes, clothes turn invisible too, but if Bilbo were carrying Frodo it did not necessarily make him invisible too.

Myfanwy: Myfanwy! (Hugs old friend) It's been so long, I thought you'd left this miserable story long ago (with good right the way it's been dragging through the mire!) I'm soo glad you're still here, I've missed you! (Breathes sigh of relief that Mynfanwy was not disappointed in Bilbo/Frodo reunion). "We definitely need some insecure Frodo angst in there somewhere": Rest assured, there will unfortunately be a lot more of that. Just because Frodo's rescued doesn't mean all nightmares and misunderstandings are out of the water. "And Frodo's reunion with Merry and Sam": Definitely! Though the Merry and Frodo reunion will be more fleshed out, since they were the relationship on rocky ground in the beginning. For some reason, I didn't flesh Sam out as a character as much as I should've in the beg, but he'll have more to do now that Frodo's back. And there be more than just a few 'loose ends' I'm afraid, all of which will be resolved in the end, though. Thank you for returning to let me know you're still here! :)

Peony: Hey Peony! Glad you liked the chapter! And no, no, I think Frodo's suffered enough hurts at this point so not to need to get stabbed with a sword. "I'm beginning to feel less cross towards Bilbo now - he's really suffering, isn't he?": Indeed, he is, and in the coming chapters that guilt that he felt couldn't get any worse before is only going to strengthen, seeing the full extent of what Frodo's gone through, and not knowing where to start in comforting him, or how to protect him. "Is it all over for Frodo?": Well, Frodo's been saved. And in my opinion, the worst is most definitely over. Now comes the time for the struggle of reconciliation, healing, etc. :)

To all those who reviewed, again, THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I LOVE YOU ALL!! Forgive me if I couldn't respond to everyone, I'm rushing right now to get this posted before I leave for a second three-day vacation. Know that I read all reviews fondly (more than twice!) and you all drove me to get this out before I left. Thank you all! Enjoy!

The door to Bag End burst open, allowing a stream of hobbits and men entrance. Hamfast Gamgee and Milo Proudfeet were first, being the ones that ran ahead to open it, and they quickly moved aside to make way for the rangers that ducked low as they entered through the small, round door. Bilbo Baggins entered amongst them, carrying Frodo in his arms. The lad was now wrapped in a large, warm cloak one of the rangers had been kind enough to give them.

They had attempted to reach Bag End without causing too much of a disruption in the Shire, yet the rangers race through Hobbiton earlier had roused many hobbits from their beds, driving them to poke their heads out to observe what was about. Even in the middle of the night word spread quickly that strange men were in the Shire, and for reasons even stranger were leading Bilbo Baggins back to his home, along with an alive Frodo Baggins.

By the time the group reached Bag End, the rangers were practically scrambling to get Bilbo and his young nephew inside before hobbits began to swarm around them. They had no sooner entered the hole that Hamfast Gamgee and Milo Proudfeet faced the difficulty of closing the door while neighbors approached, dressed in nightgowns and nightcaps, demanding to know what was about.

"It be none of your affair, now off to bed with you!" Milo Proudfeet persisted, struggling to close the door.

One of the rangers stepped forward, and the hobbits recoiled in fear. "Please," he responded, his voice kind but commanding, "leave Master Baggins's residence. There is nothing you can do here."

Yet the hobbits continued to come, and as stories began to spread of what was happening . . . ruffians invading the Shire. . . blood being spilled. . . .rangers having a murderer in their clutches. . . the crowd grew more panic stricken than before.

In all the anxious mayhem, Bilbo wordlessly slipped past the rangers and retreated down the hall to Frodo's room. Since the trip from the forest, Frodo's sobs had slowly quieted, but the boy continued to cough and tremble even within the tight folds of the cloak. The heavy sobs, combined with the ragged coughs that had wracked his frame for most of the trip seemed to have drained him of the last of his strength so that he all but sagged on Bilbo's shoulder, tears leaking silently from his eyes. His room was thankfully far down the hall so that the loud, irritating voices from the corridor slowly quieted as Bilbo retreated into the far back of the hole.

A wet cough was muffled into his vest, and Bilbo worriedly pressed the boy closer to him, frightened by the heat radiating from the small body. "You're home, my boy," he whispered, looking down at the pale, tear-stained face resting on his shoulder. "It's all right now, you're safe."

At long last Bilbo came to Frodo's room. It was just as dark and quiet as it had been since Frodo's last night here, and Bilbo nearly reeled as he took in the covers of the bed, still pulled back from before.

It felt like a lifetime since he had expected to have saved his nephew and laid him back down to bed; for days he had grieved that he would never get the chance to ever lay him down in his own bed again. And now his boy was here, and safe in his arms.

By the Shire, he'd been given the greatest gift.

Shifting the boy in his arms, Bilbo sat down at the edge of the bed, prepared to bundle him up under the covers, for his little body continued to tremble like a leaf in the wind. Yet as he began to ease him out of the cloak, a swift, aching pain erupted in his chest and he realized after so long he couldn't let him go again, not so soon.

Suddenly was drawing the boy into his arms again, rocking the little body back and forth. His breaths were short and gasping as he struggled to calm his racing heart, trying to tell himself that it was all right, that Frodo was really here. "My boy," he whispered, holding him close. "It's all right now, you're home, you're safe, you're safe," he crooned, just as much to himself as to Frodo.

Bilbo heard a sharp whimper close to his ear, and he finally broke away, realizing he must've been holding him too tightly. With the greatest effort, he slowly disengaged himself and ever so gently laid the boy down against his soft pillows.

Emotion flooded Bilbo, and he bit back a sob as he looked down at the terrible state his nephew was in. He looked so small, so sick . . . the bloodless pallor to his face blended right in with the white sheets.

"Frodo," he whispered. He placed a hand on his shoulder, nearly pulling back at how narrow his frame was. Hadn't it been just two weeks ago that he had been innocently sliding cakes and apple pies in front of him, reveling that his coaxing had resulted in the boy's small weight gain? While not as much as he'd hoped, progress had still been made. Now that weight had vanished, along with the rest of him it appeared. The boy looked positively wasted away, his limbs frail and lifeless at his sides as though he were no more alive than a puppet on strings. .

Guilt burned in Bilbo's chest like a hot brand. How could they do something like this? Why? _Why? _Frodo was just an innocent boy. . .what horrors he'd suffered at the hands of these men. . .and what little he himself had been able to do about it. This was HIS fault. Oh, if only he hadn't let Frodo leave the day, if he hadn't left him alone. This might not have happened.

_I'm not letting him leave these walls ever again! _

"Bilbo?"

Bilbo quickly broke out of his recrimination, and watched in relief as the boy finally began to stir. It took a great effort for Frodo to finally open his eyes. Though they were unfocused and bright with fever, Bilbo couldn't help the joy that ran through him as he looked into those enormous blue eyes again. He'd missed them so. . . .

"Bilbo?" he whispered.

"Yes, it's me Frodo, I'm here," he said, fresh tears springing to his eyes. Crouching down closer to him, he clasped the cold hand in his. "It's all right."

"And they're. . .they're really gone?"

"Yes, my boy," Bilbo breathed, grasping his hand tighter. "They're gone now, you're safe. You're home."

At hearing this, Frodo lifted his head slightly and squinted as though he were unable to see the room clearly. But his uncle's words were enough to reassure him, and he let his head drop back against the pillow, his ragged breathing easing a little.

The relief did not last long. Soon his chest started to rise and fall too quickly, and he began gasping. Bilbo worked quickly and carefully to move him onto his side so he could breathe easier as another terrible coughing fit took him. The older hobbit blinked back tears at the dreadful choking sounds that wrenched out of Frodo's throat. To ease his shaking, Bilbo kept one hand securely upon his shoulder and began to rub his back with the other.

Frodo cried out, his shoulders bunching up at the contact. "D-don't...please!" he choked in between coughs, and Bilbo quickly withdrew his hand.

For a moment Bilbo was confused. . . then understanding slowly began to sink into him like a cold sheet of ice into his stomach. Swallowing a hard lump of dread, Bilbo gently pulled away the tattered remains of the boy's shirt. His hands shook as he saw the series of dark bruises there. Pulling the shirt up further, he could see the patches of bruising that randomly colored the boy's frame, some darker than others. On one side there was a particularly ugly black bruise that was curiously shaped like a shoe print, and his sides revealed a similar trail of cuts and hurts that had obviously been agonizing and long suffered.

'_Monsters....monsters!'_ Sobs were building in his throat, and his hands were trembling as he finally pulled the boy's shirt back down.

Everything he'd feared. . .all those dark visions of what his boy could possibly be going through. . .they had not been real enough. It had been folly to think that his nephew hadn't been hurt, hadn't been abused horribly at the hands of those horrible creatures. And this. . .to see how hurt he was, how weak . . ..

Guilt engulfed Bilbo again, and he had to restrain himself from gathering Frodo into his arms again, rocking him to sleep, away from this nightmare. Yet he could see the boy was still shaking with pain. He had groaned when Bilbo had held him before. . .

Bilbo forced back a growl of anger as he gently rested Frodo on his back.

By the Shire, he should have fought harder and plunged Sting into that ruffian's chest. Even after everything that had happened, he had still felt a reluctancy in going so far as hurting the man when he'd fought him. Saving Frodo had been his main priority. But now, seeing everything those ruffians had done to his young, innocent nephew . . .

"Frodo," he said, bending down and placing a hand on the boy's burning forehead. "I'm going to leave for a second, all right? You're terribly sick. I need to tell Hamfast to bring a healer."

That got a response. Instantly, Frodo's eyes snapped open, and he lifted his bandaged hand towards him. Bilbo could see him struggle to lift his other arm as well, but it refused to budge from his side. "N-no," he whispered, pinning the older hobbit with the intensity of his gaze. "D-don't leave."

At the same moment, Bilbo turned to the sounds of rapidly approaching footsteps down the hall. A second later, Mrs. Gamgee rushed in, still dressed in her night-robe after being awoken by the commotion outside.

"Sir, I heard," she gasped, sounding out of breath as she joined him at Frodo's side.

Her face held a mixture of shock, relief and sadness as her gaze fell on the little hobbit. "Oh Frodo dear, we're so glad you're safe."

But Frodo had begun coughing again, his frame shaking at the utter force of it, and his face was buried in the pillow. Bilbo crouched down next to him, gently supporting his shoulders as the fit tore through him. He looked up, his eyes shining with tears.

"Please," he whispered, "Fetch somebody to help - a healer, Dr. Burrows, anybody. He's terribly sick, and I. . . I can't leave him!"

"Dr. Burrows is already on the way, sir."

Mrs. Gamgee hurriedly began removing the large piles of clothes from the bed, and together they pulled the covers up to the boy's chin. The thin sheet and quilt were not enough to ward of the chills that continued to wrack his frame, and Mrs. Gamgee left to retrieve more blankets from a nearby room.

Bilbo knelt beside Frodo again, and carefully lifting his little hand in his own, he pressed his lips to the cold fingers, combing through the boy's limp curls with the other. For a while he just sat looking at him, impatiently waiting the moment when the doctor would come.

"Bilbo?" Frodo whispered.

"It's all right, Frodo, I'm here," he whispered, rubbing the cold hand, reassuringly. "We're going to get somebody to help you, don't worry."

"Why – "

Bilbo frowned as the boy's face contorted as he tried to speak. He didn't want him to talk if it was hurting his throat. Though he wanted to hear his voice more than anything, he couldn't let him if it was making him worse. "W-why did," Frodo tried again, his voice soft and weak, making it difficult to hear him. "W-why d-did you – "

"Shh, Frodo, don't strain yourself," he pleaded, fearing another coughing fit might result if he spoke further. He continued to stroke the boy's head, his hand quavering slightly as his fingers brushed over a small bruise above the boy's brow. He was prepared to ask Bell to bring him some water when she returned. "It's all right, my boy, whatever it is. You don't have to talk now."

Suddenly, he felt a tentative hand on his shoulder, and the voice of Halfred Gamgee spoke in his ear.

"Sir, they're askin' for you. The rangers, and Milo Proudfeet and Shiriff Hardbottle."

"I'll speak with them later, Halfred."

"But no, sir, you don' understand," the young hobbit insisted. "You must come now – "

Before he could speak further, he was interrupted as Milo Proudfeet entered the room, followed by a visibly frustrated Hamfast Gamgee.

"Bilbo, you must come with us now," Milo commanded, stretching his arm to the door.

Bilbo huffed at the request, shocked that Milo would dare ask him such a thing. Immediately he turned back to Frodo. His heart gave another turn to see the boy's lips part slightly, his eyes glazed with fever and tears. Cold pain continued to churn through Bilbo, and he continued to latch on to the small hand. The poor boy, he looked too sick to even understand what was happening.

"It can wait until later, whatever it is!" he said, angrily. "Can't you see he's sick?"

"Sir, please," Halfred insisted, a strange hint of anxiousness in his voice. When Bilbo refused to respond, the young Gamgee bent lower and whispered in his ear, "Sir...they've found the hobbit! The one you claim were workin' with the kidnappers!"

Cold hands seemed to grip Bilbo round the throat as those words reached his ears. His hand firmly clasping Frodo's, he turned to the hobbits assembled int the doorway.

"What?" he rasped, frowning indiscernibly. "What are you talking about? How?"

Distant voices from down the hall started to grow louder, and soon Dr. Burrows, an elderly hobbit that lived in Hobbiton, entered, followed by Mrs. Gamgee. Situation already explained to him, he went directly to the bedside, setting his bag down on the bed.

"Master Baggins, please move aside," Dr. Burrows replied, his voice grave as he observed his patient.

Gently, but firmly, Dr. Burrows edged Bilbo away from the side of the bed. Milo took the opportunity and came forward, grabbing hold of the hobbit's arm.

Bilbo's hand ripped from Frodo's.

He could hear Frodo call his name in alarm as Milo practically dragged him into the hallway.

"Frodo, I'm right here!" he called, tightly, watching as the bed was surrounded by Dr. Burrows, Mrs. Gamgee and Halfred.

Once out in the hall, Bilbo turned to Milo, furiously.

"Why are you coming to me with this now?" he demanded. "What do you mean the traitor hobbit's been found?"

"Well, sir, the rangers who traveled with us from Bree came knocking on your door this evening to see if you were home to tell you about the kidnappers returning. When you didn't answer, a few of them went round the hole, thinking there might be another entrance to knock upon, and they came across a hobbit tryin' to break in through a window. Thinking it were another trying to steal your...erm, if you excuse me, your make-believe treasure...they took him to the Green Dragon to question him. He ended upon admitting to actually being the very one you were looking for. The hobbit that got those men to kidnap your nephew."

Shock pummeled Bilbo in waves as he listened. "Well, who was it?" he finally exclaimed.

"They don't know the name of the hobbit, sir. They aren't exactly acquainted with him, being in the Shire just a few hours and all. That's why they've requested for you to come directly and identify him to make sure he's the actual one you saw in the forest that night."

"Well certainly I'll do so, but can't it wait until later?" he asked in bafflement. "Tomorrow, maybe?"

Milo shook his head, anxiousness starting to appear in his features as he peered down the hall.

"Sir, I know you've just rescued your nephew, but there are other things afoot at the moment! The entire Shire be in an absolute panic!" he remonstrated. "After this whole mess with men kidnapping a young hobbit, they're afraid these rangers have the same intentions! That one man that was shot in the forest is still there, and the rangers aren't leaving until this business with the traitor hobbit be settled. So you must go and see if it be him, so they can take him away too! So you must do it now! The Shire's awake with hysteria at having murderers and dark stranger in the midst!"

The older hobbit could do more but gape at Milo, and what he was asking him to do.

"Elbereth, I just got Frodo back!" he protested. "I can't just leave him, he needs me right now!"

"Sir, please let us through," another hobbit came down the hall, a doctor's bag under his arm.

As the two hobbits moved aside, Bilbo shot another glance into the room to see Dr. Burrows looming over Frodo, placing a hand on his forehead. Mrs. Gamgee was on the other side of him, holding his hand, and he thought he heard her telling Frodo that he was right outside.

Bilbo groaned, dragging a hand through his hair in a frenzy. He couldn't deny that he burned to know who the traitor hobbit was and confront the coward, whoever he was. But this wasn't the time! This was the worst time! Frodo needed him this moment. The wild fear that had flashed in the boy's eyes when he'd first opened his eyes and seen Bilbo still weighed heavily in his mind.

"I - I can't leave him!" he stammered. "You must understand that!"

"It won't take long, sir," Milo insisted, taking a hold of his arm once again.

"No," he demanded, grabbing his arm back, furiously. "You don't understand! He's suffered terribly, and I can't just leave him like this!"

"But sir, it's not as though you're leaving him in the care of those men again," Milo tried to reason with him. "Look in there, he's being tended by doctors. He's safe now, you don't need to worry."

"I can't," he stammered.

"Just come with us to the Green Dragon, and say whether or not he be the hobbit you saw, and that'll be it. Whether he is or isn't, he did try and break into Bag End this evening."

The older hobbit didn't respond.

"Bilbo, please!" Milo's eyes were practically pleading now. "Everyone in the Shire's in a panic! Can't you hear them outside? You're the only one that can end this before morning and it spreads further, so end it now!"

Bilbo ground his teeth together, fighting back the urge to say that he could care less at this moment what the rest of the Shire was in a panic for!

The voices from outside were growing louder, and he could hear the pounding of fists upon the door and nearby windows. One of the men suddenly appeared in the hallway, motioning for him to come.

"Dammit!" he cursed aloud. Turning, he peered into the room again and saw that the other doctor had flanked the bed as well, and they were both removing bandages and concoctions from their bags. He couldn't even see Frodo now, the bed was so swarmed with hobbits.

Another ranger appeared at the end of the hall, and both were now coming towards him. Their determined strides gave Bilbo the indication that if he did not comply willingly, then they were prepared to drag him out by force.

The cries from outside were growing louder, and more fearful. He could hear them clearly and distinctly now.

"What is going on?"

"What are men doing here?"

"Bilbo's not breeding dragons in there, is he?"

Milo tried to shake his arm again, and Bilbo jerked away. As the rangers approached, Bilbo rushed back into the room. Pushing his way through Dr. Burrows and the other doctor, he resumed his former spot by the bed.

Dammit, he couldn't believe they were making him do this!

Kneeling down beside the boy, Bilbo brushed back the limp bangs and placed a soft kiss on his fevered brow.

"Frodo," he said, his face above his. Frodo's eyes opened, and he stared at his uncle, fearfully.

"W-wha – " he began.

"I have to go for a short while, but I'll be back very soon," he promised, trying to keep his voice from shaking as he stroked the dark curls.

Frodo's face contorted in confusion and he stared at his uncle in disbelief. The older hobbit's chest burned as he watched fresh tears rush to his eyes. "W-what?...no!"

Arms were already snaking around Bilbo, pulling at him. He managed to shove them away one last time.

"Frodo I'll be back soon, I promise, I'll explain everything later."

"Where–" The worry lines on Frodo's face deepened, and a tear dropped down his cheek.

It made Bilbo's heart bleed to see it. But already the doctors were pushing him away, and Milo was practically hauling him out the door.

"Sir, he'll be all right," assured one of the doctors. "He's safe now...we'll take good care of him."

Bilbo wasn't even listening. He wouldn't listen to any of it. It was madness.

Breaking away from Milo, who along with another hobbit had grabbed hold of him, he stomped down the hall and out the door, the rangers and Hamfast trailing behind him.

Fury raged in him that they were making him do this, now, of all times! He hoped they didn't expect any great trial. He'd point the hobbit out, and then storm straight back here. Right now, he didn't even care who it was. He was too tired. He just wanted it all to be over.

There was a crowd of at least twenty outside Bag End. At seeing Bilbo storming out the door, they parted to allow him get through. He expected them to attack him with the onslaught of questions they'd been shouting at his door, yet they remained oddly silent, most likely due to the ranger's presence behind him. Bilbo couldn't help but admit that with the long, dark capes and hoods, the rangers had a dangerous look about them. Even though they meant no harm, they seemed aware of the scare they had unintentionally created as well, and knew that suspicious eyes were on them as they led Bilbo down the road.

There was a crowd outside the Green Dragon as well. As Bilbo was led through, he could hear whispers amongst them on who the hobbit was, and what was to be done with him, but none seemed to have the answer. After emerging from the crowd, he realized why. The doors were guarded by two of the rangers, and it was too dark to see through the windows.

Once they entered, they were quickly ushered into a side room, where Bilbo was surprised to find Shiriff Proudfeet along with two other Shiriffs, Shiriff Bolger and Shiriff Hardbottle. They were standing by a side door, while two more rangers and the leader stood inside the room. All eyes were directed upon a hobbit that crouched, trembling, in the far corner, his identity hidden by the dark shadows of the dimly lit room.

Bilbo saw him, and his heart started to pound madly in his chest as he realized who he was about to confront.

"Master Baggins, we thank you for coming," the head ranger replied.

"Not a problem," Bilbo answered, though the bitter anger in his tone was not lost on anyone in the room.

"This will be quick," he said, and gestured for one of the rangers to go bring the hobbit in the corner. "Once we're

finished here, we shall bother you no more. We are taking the ruffian we captured in the forest with us, and we will determine what punishment he will be granted. This hobbit...well, he is one of your own land. Therefore, we can not lay judgement upon him. So it will be the Shiriff's to determine what is to be done with him, if he is in fact the hobbit you saw."

His hand then gestured to the three Shiriff standing by Bilbo. They were all casting dark, angry eyes at the hobbit who continued to cower in the corner.

"If it be all right with you, sir," Shiriff Proudfeet spoke, after clearing his throat, "I believe I speak for all the Shire that if this is in fact the hobbit...meaning," he added, and his eyes went to Bilbo with the slightest glint of humor, "that Master Baggins judges correctly this time, then we wish you to take this hobbit with you. If he is the one who Master Baggins claims he is, then he should be exiled from the Shire."

Milo gasped, and Bilbo found himself equally astounded at the sentence. Though he certainly didn't think the sentence was harsh in the slightest, he had not expected something so severe from Shiriff Proudfeet. Banishment was a punishment almost unheard of in the Shire. Crime in general was a rare occurrence, and the only time Bilbo had ever heard of a hobbit being banished was for repeated thievery, and that had only been a temporary banishment.

"Are you sure on your decision, little sir?" the ranger inquired, speaking carefully. "If you put him under our responsibility, we will be pushing him along with the ruffian. The punishments that are determined to be appropriate in the world of men are far more severe than what you would deem right here, I am sure."

"I do not doubt it, sir," Shiriff Proudfeet replied, his tone similarly careful. "But the crime that this hobbit has committed has disrupted the peace in the Shire in a way that is uncomparable. To threaten the peace in this land is by far the most serious crime one can do. And this - of conspiring to kidnap and no doubt harm a young, innocent hobbit for the purpose of gaining wealth – "

Shiriff Proudfeet paused, and he took a deep breath before continuing, his voice calm but grave. "Well, I believe that this is a crime too severe for any punishment the Shire could inflict. In my opinion, and in the mind of the Mayor, whom I have already spoken to on this matter, this hobbit deserves no better than to be cast out and left to the mercy of your laws."

A long, heavy silence weighed down upon the members of the room at Shiriff Proudfeet's words, only to be broken by sharp whimpers erupting from the corner.

A sudden chill swept up the back of Bilbo's arms and he shuddered at the familiarity of that whimper. When the ruffian had grabbed the traitor hobbit on the night of the first exchange, he had whimpered like that. The same mewling, pathetic whine as though HE had been wronged and had something dreadful to complain about.

The Shiriffs heard the whimper too, and that served as a signal that it was time for the traitor to be revealed.

The two rangers standing in the doorway went to the corner and each took hold of one of the hobbit's arms, pulling him forward. His hands were bound in front, and he kicked and struggled within their grasp. As the dragged him into the light, his head pitched forwards into his chest, averting his face.

One of the rangers wrapped his hand around the top of the dusty brown, curly head, and pulled it back to expose his face.

There was a wave of shock that tore through the room, striking Bilbo first.

Sandyman.

The Miller.

A regular face at the Green Dragon.

The father of Ted Sandyman, a good friend of Lotho Sackville-Baggins, Lobelia and Otho's son....

Bilbo's mouth went dry as he stared through monstrously wide eyes, his lips parted slightly.

One question he had wanted to demand suddenly lost its meaning. He didn't even need to ask how this monster acquired all the knowledge he needed about Frodo and him to entice the kidnappers.

"Sir, is this the hobbit?" the ranger asked, breaking the silence that had engulfed the room.

When Bilbo didn't answer, Hamfast gave him a slight nudge. He swayed slightly at the contact, still dumbstruck as he tried to grasp that he was looking upon the face the hobbit had been responsible for all of this.

Sandyman was an ordinary looking hobbit. Completely ordinary. Despite his labor at the mill, he had an impish, almost childish face, with small, piggy eyes and a snubbed nose. In his long, miserable musings by the fire, Bilbo remembered suspecting Sandyman as possibly being the traitor hobbit. Yet he had existed within a mass of other names he had suspected, and in the end Bilbo had discarded him, believing him to be too vague and unimpressionable to seriously consider. For he worked at the other end of Hobbiton, and Bilbo hardly knew him. Frodo had never even met him! And yet...

For a long time, Bilbo couldn't do or say anything. He just stood, his eyes hard on the hobbit whom continued to whimper and struggle in the ranger's hold.

Then fury erupted in Bilbo like a raging fire, accompanied with the fear he'd harbored that it could have been _anyone_. It wasn't a hobbit that lived nearby, or bore him a personal grudge, or was a Sackville-Baggins. It was just one of the many faces among the crowd.

"Master Baggins," one of the rangers said, indicating for him to reply.

"Let him speak," he replied, swallowing. "I may need only to hear his voice to see if he is the one."

All eyes darted to the struggling hobbit.

"N-no," Sandyman said, his voice sounding gruff and obviously faked.

"We meant your real voice," commanded the head ranger.

A reminder was hardly needed, though. Confirmation had been made. This hobbit wouldn't have faked his voice if he had nothing to hide.

"I didn't do it!" he protested, anxiousness slipping into his voice as he squirmed.

"Now wait, sir. I must ask, didn't Sandyman already admit to conspiring earlier?" Shiriff Proudfeet inquired. "For that is what I had been informed, that the hobbit had already confessed."

"It was not a confession," the ranger admitted. "But let me explain. We caught him trying to break in to Master Baggins's hole, and before we even had the opportunity to question him, he began to protest that he wasn't the one that had conspired to kidnap Master Baggins's nephew. He said that straight out, and at our confusion he desperately attempted to retract his statement. And, regardless of whether or not he claimed to be guilt of that crime, he was caught breaking into Master Baggins's home, no doubt for reasons of theft."

"That's not true!" Sandman screeched, as his face whitened and his voice lost all disguise. "I ain't the one! I ain't got any reason to steal from ol' Bilbo Baggins!"

Bilbo closed his eyes tightly. The words came back...even though they'd been disguised, Bilbo could distinguish that the voice was the same.

'Greetings to you, ol' Bilbo Baggins! Just taking a share of some o' yer lavish wealth that you're not generous enough to pass round!'

He had looked supremely triumphant in that moment, his broad chest puffed out, grinning smugly. He had stood beside the ruffian as though they were great companions, and he harbored completely indifferent to who he was hurting in the process of his scheme, of what lives he was destroying....

The ruffians may have been the ones who hurt Frodo....but here was the one responsible for all of this in the first place. If not for him, those men wouldn't have entered Frodo's life, and none of this ever would have happened....such a thought was like a dream, too distant and wonderful to be real.

Suddenly, Bilbo came to himself, and he remembered that he still had Sting with him.

He managed to storm a solid three steps, Sting clenched in his hand, when Shiriff Proudfeet and Shiriff Hardbottle grasped him and pulled him back.

"No, Bilbo," Shiriff Proudfeet protested. "That's enough, you know we can't let you do this!"

A part of Bilbo had known that they would be there to hold him back, but his blind outrage had driven him forwards anyway.

"How could you," he hissed, his eyes narrowing to sharp slits until his face resembled the twisted sneer Frodo had cowered from in his nightmares. "You scum! How could you do something like this! So devious, so evil! And to one of your own kind! Wait, no," he said, his fist still clenching Sting. "I take that back. You're not one of his own. You're not a hobbit to do something so monstrous!"

"Bilbo, that's enough, stop it," Shiriff Proudfeet panted, amazed at the strength it took both him and Shiriff Hardbottle to hold back a ninety-nine year old hobbit. "He'll get what's been coming to him."

"It's not enough," Bilbo snarled, glaring at the hobbit who cowered, terrified, just a few feet from him.

Even though Shiriff Proudfeet had promised a sentence far worse than Bilbo had expected him to, and he knew that he would be sinking lower than this rat if they let him go, it just wasn't enough. Not NEARLY enough! Exile wouldn't take away everything he was feeling, everything his poor boy had gone through. Even now, Bilbo still felt the tremors of worry that nearly drove him mad those first days in the search to find Frodo, not knowing what had happened to him and dreading the worst....then going days in the belief that Frodo was dead, nursed only by grief and the knowledge he'd failed the lad. Those days of a living nightmare were still fresh and raw in his mind, and they might never leave him.

Bilbo would have continued to struggle if the sorrowful memories hadn't weakened him. Shiriff Proudfeet and Shiriff Hardbottle released him, but kept him against the opposite wall, wary hands on his shoulders.

Sandyman stared back at Bilbo in terror.

"Y-you crazy hobbit!" he spluttered, and craned his head up to the men. "Get him! He's the crazy one! What are you capturing me for? He's the one that's a disruption of the peace! An' he's an old miser, he's a selfish, sorry, mad – "

"Knock it off," said one of the rangers, darkly.

"But it's true, look at him!" he exclaimed, and lifted his bound hands towards Bilbo's direction. "He's tryin' to attack me with a great big sword! I don't know about you," he said, with a condescending huff, "But I ain't crazy enough to carry weapons like that!"

The rangers laughed grimly at this.

"I believe he's every right to wield that sword at you," replied the leader, tonelessly.

With his arms folded in front of him, he stepped into the space between Bilbo and the traitor hobbit, and looked down on him with dark, threatening eyes. "Think what you've done. To him. To his nephew. You've brought unimaginable suffering upon them. You've thrown an innocent soul into the hands of terribly men, who nearly succeeded in killing them both. And as for his carrying that sword with him...well, has he not suffered enough to have reason to fear his neighbors, and feel the need to protect himself?"

Sandyman squirmed in discomfort as he was forced to listen.

"I didn't hurt the boy any," he mumbled.

"No," Bilbo said, scowling. "But you did. You might not have kidnapped the boy, but you devised the idea. You brought those men here to do it. Without you, this wouldn't have ever happened! You – " Even as he spoke, fury lurched in him again and Shiriff Proudfeet grabbed onto his arm to hold him back.

"You've no idea, of what you've done, do you!" he said, harshly. The weight of the last two week's fury and grief poured out of him as he spoke. "You've no comprehension of what evil you brought on this land and you've no idea what you did to the lad – " his voice cracked, and guilt seeped into him. "Even I don't know what your greed has done yet. They've dragged me first thing to look on your worthless face instead of taking care of my nephew!"

Bilbo broke off again to catch his breath, and the rangers interpreted this to mean that it was time to lead the hobbit away. But Bilbo wasn't finished.

"You never even met him, did you?" he hissed, as the rangers passed him.

"Who?" Sandyman asked, squinting in confusion.

Bilbo seized the hobbit's shoulder, venomously. "FRODO!"

Sandyman's eyes dimmed in recollection, and then grew vaguely uncomfortable.

"Well, no," he admitted. "But I hear well enough about him from others, an' they know what they're talking about."

"Ted," Bilbo said, suddenly reminded of Sandyman's son, a good friend of Lotho's. He grabbed him, harder. "Did he know about this?" he demanded. "Or no, even better, was it the Sackville-Bagginses? Are they the ones that told you to do this?"

"No," he admitted, the confusion that flittered across his face evidence that he was most likely telling the truth.

An abrupt scowl erupted in Sandyman's face, and Bilbo's stomach flipped at the hatred and resentment that was unleashed before him. "They deserve it more'n' you do, though!" Sandyman muttered. "You've done nothin' to deserve treasure, all you do is sit around! I've seen it! You never worked, never did nothin'! It were supposed to be mine...and I'll bet that boy wasn't harmed any."

Bilbo's hand had come up before Shiriff Proudfeet could stop him. Sandyman went flying back into the ranger's hold and moaned as the fist connected with his jaw.

"You monster," Bilbo glowered. "You have no_ idea_ how wrong you are."

"So you were alone in this," the ranger stated, lifting his sword to meet the hobbit's eyes.

"Yes," Sandyman answered, grudgingly, still blinded with pain at the force of the blow.

"That's enough for me," the ranger said.

With a gesture of his hand, the two men dragged a moaning Sandyman away.

Shiriff Proudfeet clapped a firm hand on Bilbo's shoulder, both to reassure him and to prevent him from attacking him again. From there, they were able to hear the sharp gasps and cries from the hobbits outside as they observed Sandyman being led out and exposed as the traitor hobbit.

The hobbits in the room refrained from going out for a moment.

"Well, Master Baggins," Shiriff Proudfeet said. "I had to disappoint you that it wasn't your vile relatives after all."

Bilbo didn't have the strength to look amused. A heavy sigh escaped him, and his head pitched into his chest with renewed weariness and disbelief.

Sandyman. The miller. It was such a commonplace name...in the past, Bilbo had seen him at the Green Dragon, exchanged greetings with him on the road.

Bilbo couldn't even trust his earlier assumption that it was necessarily Lobelia and Otho who Sandyman had learned of his wealth, as well as how important Frodo was in his life. As Sandyman had said, there had been others.

The entire Shire had flocked to his door when Frodo went missing. . .

When Bilbo finally stepped out of the Green Dragon, he was received by hobbits clapping him on the shoulder and bidding him well for getting his nephew back. Bilbo couldn't help but feel indifferent to their praise, knowing how fast opinions changed in the Shire, and still feeling the gnawing suspicions at the back of his mind. It could have been any one of them...

As Bilbo and Hamfast broke away from the crowd, and began the journey home, they could hear the ranger making an announcement to the remaining hobbits gathered.

"We are very sorry to all of you for what has transpired in the last few weeks. The worst, however, appears to be over. The hobbit that was kidnapped has been saved thanks to the courage of his uncle, Master Baggins, and the kidnappers have been caught, as well as a hobbit conspirator. They will all be removed from your land, and we all bid you now to return to your homes. We will be gone by morning, and will trouble you no more."

These words seemed to satisfy most of those listening, and the crowd slowly began to disperse. Bilbo and Hamfast had a head start up the road, and they were silent as they walked down the dark lane.

Sensing his master's distress, Hamfast gave him a firm clap on the shoulder.

"Don' think about it anymore now, sir," he said, softly.

"How can I not?" Bilbo asked, his eyes tracing the ground, looking positively lost. "It was Sandyman....just an acquaintance....a regular face at the Green Dragon..."

"An' he's been caught, sir," Hamfast reminded him. "An' with the anger I saw in that ranger's eyes, he ain't gettin' less than what you'd inflict upon him."

"I suppose," he said, scrubbing his weary face with his hand. "The one ruffian's dead...and the other's going to be sentenced too," he said, looking back at the dark road behind them.

"That's right, sir," Hamfast replied. "You've done all you could do. An' now you've got Frodo back, an' he's gonna be all right. All can end well now."

"Yes," Bilbo said, relief returning as he was reminded who would be waiting for him when he got home.

A smile came into his face. Though it was hard to see it now, the Gaffer was right in what he said. Things could have gone worse. Much worse.

"Frodo's waiting," he said, his pace quickening. With every step, it felt as though he were putting a little bit of the fury and worry behind him on the dark road and coming closer to a better end.

"Let's just get home."

TBC

So...............Shlee Verde, Ilmare, you two win for anticipating rightly! Arg, Shlee, you just can't stop anticipating my moves! :) And WildFire203, you were really close! It wasn't Ted, but his father!

I'm sorry this chapter took so long, I swear I had it nearly finished last Friday but it wasn't quite right, and I left for vacation for a week.

To all who reviewed, please keep it up! BellaMonte is selfish like Tony and Strasser and Sandyman and loves to hear how you liked the latest bit. You pursue me to write faster! :)

Next chapter is in the works, and I promise Frodo will finally be out of his feverish stupor and thinking and talking coherently again.


	26. Far From Over

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

E-Mail: 

Rating: PG-13 for violence, cursing and long-lasting hobbit suffering

Disclaimer: I own merely the scum of the story (ruffians and prostitutes).

A/N: Sorry this took so long. Also, just to clarify, the lead ranger from 'The Night Has a Thousand Eyes' and 'Revelations' was NOT Aragorn, just another noble, scruffy ranger out there. I figure I'm AU enough right now, I didn't need to bring him in.

Hope everyone enjoys!

WildFire203: (Joins in the nearly right happy dance!) Yep, you were nearly, nearly right! I considered having it Ted too, but decided it might as well be the father. Thank you for the awesome review, hope the wait wasn't too long!

ShadowGraffiti: Danke for the lovely review, ShadowGraffiti! Always a pleasure! Though (takes frying pan away) no Bilbo killing Sandyman, he'd be in deeper sht then, than the traitor hobbit! :)

Sorrowful Eagle: Thanks for the gingerbread hobbits! I leave you behind now some freshly baked brownies. :)

Ubiquitous Pitt: Hey hey. How be that (winks) going on? "I somehow think this will be easier for Frodo to overcome than Bilbo": You've got the right idea, Sara. Though it's going to be rough on both of them, especially the first few days, time and recovery and a heck of a lot of explanation is going to heal Frodo of a lot of his suffering, but Bilbo on the other hand's going to live with the burdens of guilt, responsibility, protecting his boy, etc., to the point that their roles will be switched by the end so Frodo's the one with things going on, and Bilbo's transformed into the standard nagging parental figure. Observe Bilbo: "Now be back by seven, and no drinking too much ale and no wandering too far on the edge of the Shire and no consorting with the wrong sort" that kind of thing. And you don't think I can make all end well believably? (Bows head, I deserve that :) we'll see, I'm realizing now having got past the rescue chapter I've got just as much complication in mending together the pieces I'd broken together earlier. Ack! Cannot win with this story. Keep writing!

Budgielover: "I'm STILL hoping for lots of comfort and reassurance and heart-warming affection for our poor lad - you have a lot to make up for - and us!": (Bows head, I deserve that too): I promise Budgie, comfort, reassurance, etc., is very near. Forgive me if the first day or so of Frodo's return is a bit rough, I couldn't imagine it being anything less, but it will turn sappy soon after. I'll make deal. You save Frodo from scary fire/snake/orc monster once and for all, and I'll propel myself into the comfort bits within the week. :)

Peony: Hey Peony! "Wow, was Frodo really gone for only two weeks! It feels a lot longer than that!": LOL, Peony, indeed considering it took over a year to get there (ducks). I share your view - a life in the Shire hills would be quite desirable compared to the steamy, hot weather of suburban PA. "Will Frodo finally tell Bilbo that he thought he'd abandoned him?": Of course, though it'll be pretty much the last thing he reveals to Bilbo. The truth's going to come out in little spurts, where it'll take time for Frodo to open up again, and naturally, that be the most pivotal point to his trauma, it will be one of the last things to come out. But it will - all will be revealed by the end.

Arwen Baggins: "There's only one problem with Sandyman being the bad guy here. The Gaffer is talking to Sandyman in the first chapter at the Ivy Bush Inn!": My dear Arwen, need I mention at this point that this story's AU? :)

Tangelian Proudfeet: Thank you dearly for the review, Tangelian. :)

Tiggivon: Danke danke mein Freund fur the kind words! (Ack, I cannot even speak one solid german sentence!) Thank you for the kind review and e-mail, tiggivon. Your words of praise mean a lot.

LilyBaggins: "Oh, can we have some more feverish Frodo?": (Sigh) You astound me, Lily, after a year and 26 chapters, and I finally get to the comfort/healing part, you demand more ailing Frodo? (Sigh again, shakes hand) Very well. I threw a FrodoHealer scene in just for you. And comfort/cuddling be on the way, you'll be sick of it by the end of the story.

Chloe Amethyst: "Looking forward to seeing Merry, and Sam too": Ooh, good! Sam's going to play a role in the beginning as one of the few anchors Frodo will be able to trust, considering he's one of the few characters he didn't have a big fall out with right before he was kidnapped. Yep, you had the right idea with him. :) Merry's coming up next chapter, and he'll have a substantial role to play as well. "It's a wonder Bilbo didn't suffer a nervous breakdown right there": He probably should've. Would've made more sense. And yeah, in this story I just couldn't help but emphasize the problem Bilbo has with the rest of the Shire either being suspicious of him/hating him/jealous of him, etc., because were this to happen that would certainly have a big part in it. And (sigh) as this chapter will prove, it'll continue to be a problem Bilbo worries about now that his boy is back. Danke danke (thank you) for the good luck on college semester, though be happy! I go to school in Seattle, and they're on quarter system there so I've got a month before I go back, hence am rapidly writing as fast as I can so I can get as much done as possible beforehand. :)

Endymion: You're right about the 'doctor' term, Edymion, but many other writers particularly FrodoHealers use it and I needed a distinguishing term for a healer, so please forgive me for it. :)

Fennelwink: Hey Fennelwink! That was an idea I considered, having Frodo face Sandyman, but I figured I'd traumatized the child enough and it would be best if he not see Tony, Strasser or the traitor hobbit any further. "Arg, won't that do wonders to reinforce his notions that have festered all the time": Eek....pretty much. You've got the right idea. I have this evil tendency to fit in dramatic irony everywhere, and I'm just stacking up the layers of misunderstandings between poor Frodo and Bilbo. It's going to take a lot to penetrate those layers again, but it will happen!

Shlee Verde: YAY!! (Does dance along with Shlee Verde) You cute little genius you, you anticipated Sandyman a looong way back, didn't you? I recall at like chapter 12 you suggested him and as I spurted coffee onto my screen I went 'damn this reviewer's good!' "Of course, now we have Frodo more confused, like, why did Bilbo leave me? You know what I mean, that sort of angst": Pretty much, unfortunately. I'm starting to realize pent up fury for guys and their ignorance and instability when it comes to communicating and saying what's really on their mind instead of cryptic gibberish has just consumed this story. Heheee. "I would love to see a sequel for this story. Strasser could come back for revenge or something": Ack, you write it! If I dare say I'm intending for Frodo to get re-snatched at this point I'll have pillows thrown at me. I'll see, I've got some ideas up my sleeve, but I'm gonna finish this first.

Elwen: "I crave more feverish Frodo": (Sigh) Lord, Elwen, you FrodoHealers! I love you, I swear I do, but I'm at quite a conflict with trying to get to the cuddly chapters and here I've got you and Lily going "Keep him sick! Keep him bedridden!" Heehee, well for your guy's pleasure, I added in a FrodoHealer scene. Enjoy.

Radia: Thank you so much for the kind words, Radia. Am glad I'm still on your 'to read' list. :) I'm glad you're pleased with my decision for taking the long-road to recovery. Considering how sht I've put these characters though, it would be wrong for me NOT to give them time to recover, even if that means there'll still be some spots still where Bilbo and Frodo have to work to getting everything straightened out, and I'm hoping the extended comfort will help to ease all of you beloved, traumatized readers. :) "I can't wait for future chapters to see how Frodo develops further (and I'd love to see a little bit of Merry too)": Rest assured, Frodo's character's going to expand in upcoming chapters, and Merry will be back right after this chapter. He's got quite a part to play yet. Sadly, it wasn't Aragorn as one of the rangers, just another noble, scrubby soul out there. I figured I'd gone AU enough at this point, and sequel? We shall see....right now, I just strive to get this one done. :)

Myfanwy: Hey Myfanwy! (Places tissues in Myfanwy's hands). I sorry I drag you all on this despairing journey, I promise I will not let you down soon enough! Just bare with me through Frodo's rough first day back. :)

Bookworm2000: Hey Bookworm! "What if Sandyman came back in with the ruffians when Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin were gone?" Quite possibly! "Could he have been the reason Ted went bad?": Most likely. "Was that Aragorn there with the rangers? You could do a bit where he first meets Frodo and recognizes him as the rescued hobbit": That's an idea, you're making me regret not fitting him in there. I could instead make it that Aragorn has heard of what happened, and is stunned to see the Ringbearer be the same hobbit and go 'man this kid can't get a break! Orphan, kidnapped for ransom and traumatized horribly, burdened with the object that may lead to the unending of the world!' Heehee, quite an idea, though Shirebound's beaten me to a sequel featuring a pre-LOTR Frodo and Aragorn meeting and then reuniting for the question in BcoP, and Shlee Verde's suggesting the sequel should feature an escaped Strasser out for revenge. Heehee, I'll have to pick out of a hat. :)

Heartofahobbit: Hey there, heartofahobbit! Danke for the lovely review! "Will Frodo understand why Bilbo had to leave again or will he see this as just another example of Bilbo's abandonment of him?" (Ducks head and runs) Eek....kind of the second one. You're exactly right about Frodo's character there, as I've tried to portray him, that he's been through so much and yet he still struggles to find some meaning through all his suffering, even when he's kicked down again and again. Though that's the real happy ending I'm trying to work out, where Frodo is completely assured that his struggling isn't for nothing, and he does have an uncle that loves him more than even he imagined. "Is Frodo going to 'set himself up for disappointment'?" Heehee, you're anticipating my plot with great ease! Very much how I had it planned. As Frodo is comforted, he'll lose a lot of his insecurities and even when he doubts good things to happen (in a sense, he grows stronger in preparing himself for less than wonderful things) he'll be all the more amazed at how many care for him. At least that's what I'm going to try to convey. :)

Thanks to all who reviewed! Sorry if I didn't get to you all, know I love you all for your kind insight!

Mrs. Gamgee was waiting in the hallway when Bilbo and Hamfast returned, her expression pale and strained as she stood, wringing her hands together before her. Bilbo stopped halfway inside the door, tension that had just recently begun to dissipate from his frame returning with a shudder.

"What's wrong," he asked, forcing the apprehension out of his voice.

"I'm relieved that you're home, sir."

"You don't look it," he answered, critically.

Hamfast followed behind him, and at seeing him enter, Mrs. Gamgee's attention flittered for a second to her husband.

"T'were Sandyman, Bell," Hamfast answered the question written on her face. "He were the one."

"Sandyman?" she gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. "Oh goodness. I - I used to serve the scoundrel drinks when he came to the Inn. What's to be done with him?"

"He's been exiled from the Shire. The ranger's are plannin' to decide what's next to be done with 'im, along with the ruffian they caught. What they're plannin' to do with 'im....well, we can only guess. . ." Hamfast trailed off.

Bell nodded, her hand still cupping her open mouth.

"Frodo," Bilbo said, eager to move on to the next subject. "How is he?"

Fear latched to him, straining his already rigid limbs when she didn't respond right away. "What, what is it?" he demanded. An answer came to him, and his throat went dry. "No. . .he's not. . .no. . ."

"No," she said, quickly, raising her head. "No, he's going to be all right. It's. . .it's not as bad as that."

"Well, then what?" he asked, frowning.

Mrs. Gamgee opened her mouth to speak, but paused as Doctor Burrows slowly approached from down the hall. They both carried the tense, discomforted appearance of one recovering from some grave shock they did not want to relive.

"How is he?" Bilbo repeated, aggravation rising in him as the seconds passed in suspense of the bad news he knew that was coming.

Taking a deep breath, Doctor Burrows set his bad down upon a set of drawers and began to put some of his supplies away, numerous small bottles and cloth bandages. He too was postponing from speaking, and Bilbo was just ready to move past to him to Frodo's room when he finally spoke.

"Master Baggins, I'm aware of what you've been through in these past weeks," Doctor Burrows's voice was low, and laced with an indiscernible combination of bitterness, and pity. "Which is why I wish I had better news to report. But," he paused, and finally turned slowly to face the master of Bag End, "Your nephew's condition is very grave indeed."

Bilbo started. He was already halfway past Mrs. Gamgee when she grabbed his arm. "Please sir, just listen," she said, earnestly.

He expelled a mighty breath."What is it?" he demanded.

"Master Baggins, I'd wish you would stay her for a moment and hear me out before greeting your nephew. I want only to prepare. . . inform you of your nephew's condition, and what his recovery will include." At saying this, Doctor Burrows brought a hand down to pull a piece of parchment form his pocket.

_He needs a list?_ Bilbo's stomach clenched.

"I'll start first with the good, sir, if that's all right. It was lucky to have Doctor Cotton there as well to assist, and together we were able to treat your nephew's injuries as well as his fever. I can now say, with full certainty, that he is out of any serious danger, and I can assure a slow, but full recovery."

"How slow?"

The doctor's shoulders lifted and hung for a moment in uncertainty. "It's still too early to say, sir. As you've must've seen yourself, he was badly injured and. . .well, leading into the rest," he said, clearing his throat and glancing down at the parchment. "The most serious wounds were on his left arm and his right hand, where it appears he was either cut or stabbed. Both wounds had been previously cleaned and bandaged, which did a great deal of good, but there were still complications not attended to. For one, the cut on his palm was badly infected, and no doubt contributed to the boy's fever. We were able to remove the infection and properly clean and bandage the hand, though I must advise that he not use the hand for several days. It was obviously paining him, and it will take time for the cut to heal."

"Did he need stitches?" Bilbo asked, fearfully.

"No. It was shallow enough that stitches wasn't necessary," Doctor Burrows replied. "However, the wound on his arm was a deeper gash. In fact, as he removed the bandage, the wound re-opened a bit and began to bleed a little. We were forced to stitch it up. Both wounds," he added, at seeing the horror on Bilbo's face, "Will heal with time. His left arm will be stiff for several weeks, and as I said his other hand should not be used for tasks even as simple as lifting tea cups for a few days. The bandages will need to be changed daily, and I will be returning to assist with that."

"Besides the two cuts," Doctor Burrows continued, and Bilbo's stomach made another violently clench. "Frodo has bruising over much of his body due to harsh, and persistent abuse. It will take several days, if not more, for them to heal, depending upon their severity. Surprisingly, nothing was broken or sprained. As for his fever, we were able to bring his temperature down once the infection was removed, though he will still be weak with it for some days. His cough will clear up in the next few days, luckily it had not turned into anything worse than bad congestion. I've already made Mrs. Gamgee a list of liquids to give him to help with his sore throat, and with the little food he's been given in the last weeks I recommend that he should be fed light meals at first, as I've written down as well. It will take his body a few days before he'll be able to handle anything heavy, along with the rest of his recovery."

"How long?" Bilbo asked, his throat dry.

"Two weeks, at least," Doctor Burrows replied. "With the combination of so many injuries and sickness, it makes it difficult to say. . ." trailing off at seeing the older hobbit's anguished expression, he hurried to finish by saying, "I am sure that it should not take much longer, with proper care and attention. If it is all right, Doctor Cotton will stay to make sure his fever doesn't return during the night. I will be back in the morning."

His bag packed, Doctor Burrows headed towards the door, pausing midway and turning back to Bilbo one final time. "Master Baggins, I don't think I need to state any further that your nephew suffered horribly at the hands of those men, and I am very sorry for you both. I hope that everything will work out, and that he will be well protected in the future."

His parting words sounded more accusing than either of them had anticipated, and Bilbo's head shot up. Their eyes locked, and the fire in Bilbo's eyes quickly died at the honest concern he was met with. For a second he stood frozen as the words sunk in, in their full meaning and intensity, and then he sagged on the spot, his head nodding. He didn't dare look up as Doctor Burrows quietly bid them all good-bye, and left.

In the silence that followed after the doctor's departure, Bilbo could still hear the remnants of his voice echoing in his head, proclaiming all that had befallen his nephew while he had sat here waiting. . .then searching. . .then grieving. . .

'Your nephew suffered terribly. . .'

'Badly injured. . .

'Two weeks at least. . .'

A hand suddenly appeared on his shoulder and a tentative 'Sir' reached his ringing ears.

"What else," he said, thickly. "There's more. . . I can see it in your eyes."

Her bonneted head dipped, reluctantly. "There is."

"What happened?"

"I. . . I don't feel blame for this, sir," she began, earnestly, and brought her hands up.

Everyone seemed to be greeting him with that warning.

"I know they dragged you off, an' you couldn't help it. But Mr. Frodo became rather. . .hysterical. . .after you left. Mostly it were the fever, the doctor's thought," she added, quickly, when Bilbo started. "It were still hard, an' scary for 'im, not havin' you here. He kept askin' me where you were, an' I. . .well, I didn't know if you'd feel right for me to tell 'im where you'd gone, it might scare 'im more. But he thought you weren't comin' back at all, even when we tried to tell 'im different – " Mrs. Gamgee stopped, seeing her master starting to fall apart. "Sam's bein' there helped, I think," she added, lightly. "I think it calmed 'im down some, to see 'im there when the doctors went about takin' care of 'im."

The older hobbit nodded slowly. "What else?" he asked, not looking at her.

With in an inward sigh, Mrs. Gamgee dove into an account of what had happened after he had left. Even as she spoke, flashes of what happened came back to her, and she made a careful effort to leave out some parts that would be too painful for her master to hear.

(Flashback)

"_Frodo, it's all right, calm down!" Mrs. Gamgee hushed, pressing his flailing arm to his side. After his uncle's departure, he had become restless again, and the doctor had requested she take charge of calming him down, hoping her familiar face would help. _

_It wasn't right, she had thought to herself as she sat by him. Had she not stayed by Frodo's side when Bilbo had been hustled out the door, she would've given Milo a piece of her mind for making her master leave like that. This was the worst possible time they could've dragged Bilbo away, and Frodo had only known her just a few months. So it surprised her when Frodo quieted at her familiar voice. _

"_Bilbo?" he croaked. His glassy eyes darted about the room as though his uncle might be playing some cruel game of hiding behind a corner. _

"_Shh, he's not here, dear," she said, gently brushing his limp bangs out of his face. _

"_W-where'd he go?" he asked, frowning deeply. _

"_He had to leave," she said, biting down on her lip when she failed to fathom a quick excuse. It would be horrifying for the boy to hear that his uncle had left him to expose the hobbit that had condemned him to this in the first place, or even devastating that his uncle had gone to do that first. Though his uncle didn't have a choice, could she really explain all that to a feverish, barely coherent boy? No, the only thing she could do was offer him reassurance, and not go into the rest. "He had to go somewhere for a little while, but he'll be back soon. I promise." _

_Her words didn't have the effect she hoped for. Frodo snapped his eyes shut, tears slipping down the sides of his face. _

"_H-he always. . .l-leaves – " his strained voice broke as he was seized by another coughing fit. Mrs. Gamgee quietly shushed him again, and bent over to hold his shoulders as he curled onto his side. _

_Samwise had gone to retrieve a few blankets she had left in the hallway, and he returned to witness his friend in pain as he buried his hacking into a pillow. The young Gamgee scurried over to position himself beside on the side of the bed next to his mother. "Shh, it's all right Mr. Frodo," he said, in a crooning voice that very closely resembled his mother's. "It's your Sam here. Everythin's gonna be all right." _

"_Mrs. Gamgee, we must work quickly," Doctor Cotton pressed, his large eyebrows knitting together as he felt the boy's fevered forehead. "We must get him clean before we assess what's wrong." _

_Nodding, Mrs. Gamgee turned Frodo onto his back again, and began undoing the remaining buttons on his shirt. _

_The red-rimmed eyes snapped open as hands fumbled at his shirt, and he gasped in terror. "N-no," he rasped, swatting at her and turning a slight shade of red in the process. "D-don't touch me!"_

"_Dear, we must!" Mrs. Gamgee urged. "We need to clean you up so these doctors here can make you better." _

"_N-no," he gasped, fighting against her in an effort to curl back into himself. _

"_It's all right, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, perching over the bed and smiling, sheepishly. "It's just my Ma, sir. She ain't gonna hurt you. She's given me baths before, an' I'm still 'ere." _

_At hearing his friend's voice, the shaking figure stilled slightly, and the sharp, gasping breaths slowed. Mrs. Gamgee waited a moment before tentatively guiding her arms about the boy's tiny frame, and lifting him off the bed. Though he didn't struggle, she could feel the tenseness in his limbs as she carried him across the room to where a small tub had been brought. _

"_Now dear, we're just going to clean you up, all right?" she asked, peering into his face. "Just relax." _

_A sigh of relief escaped her when he didn't struggle as she undid the rest of his shirt. _

_Oh my, he's filthy, she thought, her nose wrinkling at the noxious smell that emanated from him. His clothes were nothing more than bloody rags now, and she quickly discarded them on the floor, prepared to throw them out the first chance she had. _

"_S-Sam's here?" he asked, hoarsely. His head craned lethargically behind him. _

"_Yes, sir. I'm here, Mr. Frodo," Sam called, rushing over and gently folding his un-bandaged hand in his own. The boy squinted, as though it was difficult for him to see, and then he turned to the hobbit that was adjusting him in her lap. _

"_Mrs. Gamgee?"_

"_Yes, it's me," she said, worry overlapping her relief as she held him. The poor boy. He was so sick. _

_Quickly easing him out of the rest of his clothes, she dipped him into the half-filled tub. The water was lukewarm and he gave a violent shudder as he sank in, though the fever and weakness made him unable to protest as Mrs. Gamgee scrubbed away at his tender skin._

_Both her and Sam had swallowed back tears as she had cleaned away his skin to see that many patches of dark along his sides and on his back were not dirt stains, but bruises. And he was so thin and light in Mrs. Gamgee's hold, his ribs protruding from his chest. _

_To the doctor's dismay, it took a good half-hour for Mrs. Gamgee to rid him of the dirt, grime and blood that covered him. By the time she lifted him out of the tub and wrapped him in fresh towels, the water had turned black. _

_Frodo had started coughing again while in the tub, and Samwise had ran to fetch a cup of tea, which he drank eagerly. At the doctor's command, Mrs. Gamgee eased him into one of his nightshirts, and carried him back to his bed. The tea and bath had both eased his shaking, and he'd slipped back into a feverish doze. _

_They had begun by removing the bandages, which Mrs. Gamgee had been careful not to disturb while she had cleaned him. Doctor Cotton had positioned himself on the opposite side of the bed so he could remove the bandage wrapped around Frodo's arm, while Doctor Burrows removed the one on his other hand. _

_Problems arose almost immediately. First, the wound on Frodo's arm re-opened as Doctor Cotton pulled a bit too hard at a part of the bandage that was stuck to crusted blood, and Mrs. Gamgee had quickly helped to put pressure on the arm as it started to bleed. _

"_This hand's infected," Doctor Cotton said, his voice grave as he peered down at the swollen hand. "We have to remove the infection, before it gets any worse." _

_Taking the small hand in both of his, the doctor began to pinch at the half-sealed wound to remove the build-up of infection in between. Pain seared through the wound like a lightning bolt, and the boy had practically leapt up in shock. _

"_D-don't!" he protested, his chest palpitating with gasps of agony. His fever was rising, and Mrs. Gamgee tried to quiet him as she placed cool, wet rags on his forehead. Yet nothing seemed to help, and his little body, despite all it had been through continued to fight off the pain that tore through him as the doctor strove to pinch out the infection._

"_This is too much for him," Doctor Cotton protested, his face crumbling as the little hobbit continued to thrash. "It would be best to sedate him, don't you think? To unburden him from the pain altogether." _

"_Yes, that would be best," Doctor Burrows agreed, nodding. "Little one," he whispered, bending down so that he was at Frodo's eyes level, "We don't want you to feel this pain anymore, but we need to get the infection out of your hand. So we're going to give you something that will put you to sleep, all right? It will be painless." _

_They had all thought the idea would surely appease the little hobbit. Instead, his eyes went wide with renewed terror and he grew even more hysterical, even as they assured him that it would help to numb his pain. _

"_N-no!" he moaned into the pillow. "N-not again! No!"_

_They had tried to shush him, but no reassurance or even Sam's voice had been able to still him, and in the end Doctor Burrows had no choice to proceed to remove the infection. Luck, or the pain, or both had resulted in the boy passing out anyway, and after that the doctors were able to wash and bandage his hand and his arm. They then went about intermittently putting wet rags on his brow to cool his forehead, and Doctor Burrows forced a concoction of some sort down his throat, claiming it would help to break his fever. _

_Then they had sat, for what seemed like hours, with Mrs. Gamgee and Sam both flocking to his side, waiting for him to wake. _

_It was only a half-hour before Bilbo and Hamfast returned that the boy's eyes slowly cracked open, still terribly bloodshot, but shed of the glassy look of fever. _

"_Mr. Frodo, are you all right?" Samwise had rushed forward before her, and clasped his hand. _

_Frodo's brows knitted together in confusion, and he managed to lift his head an inch from the pillow to better see his friend. _

"_Sam?" He looked at him as though he'd just woken up after nodding off from a conversation hours ago, and couldn't remember where they had left off. _

_Making an effort to not squeeze him too hard, but unrestrained by joy, Sam threw his arms around the friend he'd grown to care for so deeply, and was now safe and secure in his own bed. Mrs. Gamgee and Sam had been helping to feed him some broth and water when Bilbo and Hamfast had returned. _

(End flashback)

Although Mrs. Gamgee had tried to emphasize the comfort and relief of what had happened, it had been unavoidable to explain the range of injuries he had suffered, as well as the pain he experienced in being treated. Even when she quickly moved on to explain what had happened when he'd awoken, there was nothing she could say to jostle the old, weary hobbit out of the shock of listening to the earlier part.

There was a long pause once she was finished, with Bilbo now seated on the edge of his chair, his head between his knees, his hands grasping his pepper-gray curls.

"His fever's near gone, sir, last I checked," she said, reassuringly. "As the doctors said, his fever and cough were most likely due to infection an' just plain weakness, and it's not gotten any worse than that."

Bilbo nodded, but didn't look up. And if his throat wasn't so dry, he would've tried to tell her that he even if he'd wanted to, he didn't know if he'd be able to look up. For as she'd spoken, a sudden lightheadedness had come upon him and the furniture started to dance all around him. He'd sunk into the nearest chair, and even then it was as though the chair were taking him on the ride through the air, though he could still hear Mrs. Gamgee speaking perfectly clear as to how Frodo had suffered at his leaving, and the long list of injuries and pain he'd endured while he'd been sitting in this very spot. . . .

Somewhere between the furniture swirling around his head and the pounding headache, Bilbo came upon the crushing realization that after everything, it still wasn't over. FAR from over.

"Frodo," he whispered, hoarsely, covering his face with his hands to hide the tears.

No. . .No. . .NOT Frodo. . .NOT his poor boy. . .not the same he'd just tucked in two weeks ago. . .not the boy who'd already been through so much, too much to have to survive this too. . .

"Why?" he rasped into his hands.

And he'd thought that he'd left the worst of it behind, well now he had to see what his pride and his foolishness had done to the lad. He was here now, right down the hall, waiting for him. . .perhaps that was why he could barely rise from where he was. His chest burned with the ever-thriving guilt, and the surmounting fear that he'd fail to ever make it up to Frodo.

What could he do? What could he possibly say to Frodo to help him forget this?

"Is he awake?" he asked, finding the strength to lift his head. Anxiety further marred his already exhausted features. "Is somebody with him? He's not alone, is he?"

"No, of course not," she answered. "Samwise is with him."

Bilbo nodded. "Good....good," he said, continuing to nod, the action repeating itself as he struggled to find the strength to walk down the hall and face his nephew.

He stood for a moment, nodding to Mrs. Gamgee who stood nearby that he was all right, and then sank back down on weakened knees.

"I -I don't know what to say to him," he said, his voice hollow as he stared with deadened eyes at the hallway.

Mrs. Gamgee paused from speaking as the door to Bag End suddenly burst open, and Halfred Gamgee came rushing in.

"Ma, can you come?" he asked, breathing heavily. "There be. . .oh, Mr. Bilbo!" he suddenly exclaimed, turning to see the master of Bag End sitting in a chair behind him. "Forgive me, sir, I didn't mean to burst in like that, it's just."

"Just what?" he asked. But the young Gamgee was reluctant to tell him, and he quickly whispered a few words in his mother's ear.

"What?" she exclaimed. "Oh for goodness sakes. Sir, I will be back," she said, turning to him. "The crowd that were outside Bag End's now gathered round the Inn, and they're causin' a fuss. I'll be back promptly."

Bilbo nodded, too distraught to argue.

"Sir, I've been asked to report somethin' to you," Halfred said, "that the master of Buckland be comin' here tomorrow."

"What?" Bilbo looked up in astonishment. "Saradoc's returning?"

"Yes, sir. He were in Tuckborough with young Meriadoc, and news reached there quickly of what happened. He's comin' in the mornin' to talk with you, and he's bringin' Mr. Merry along with 'im."

His chest made another painful wrench as he listened. He had no doubt why Saradoc was coming, and what his intentions would be. Though anger shuddered through his frame, he couldn't blame him. Saradoc had every right to confront him, something Bilbo knew he had wanted to do when he had come to collect Merry, but under the grief of the situation and his hurry to leave, he'd held off.

Dread ran through him. What was Saradoc going to say, do, when he saw what Frodo had been through. After all, Frodo was Saradoc's nephew as well, and until three months ago had been his guardian for the psat twelve years.

Bilbo didn't even need to wonder what Saradoc's reaction would be. It wouldn't matter that Bilbo had saved Frodo in the end, along with the help of rangers. It wouldn't change the fact that this was HIS fault. This wouldn't have happened had he not allowed Bilbo to adopt him, letting him to wander off on his own. . .

Bilbo could recall down to the most bitter details the expression on Saradoc's face when he'd left Bag End after collecting Merry. The hard frown, distrust and devastation fighting in the worry lines of his face.

Halfred was still whispering to his father, who had now come into the room. Bilbo strained his ears, as he could hear bits and pieces of what he was saying.

"Halfred, you can jus'. . . .tell em'. . .no such thing. . ."

"Should've asked. . .them rangers. . .stick around. . ."

"Why?" Bilbo demanded, tearing out his chair again. "What's happened now?"

Both Gamgees flinched at his rapid approach, as though they hadn't intended Bilbo to hear.

"Oh, nothin, sir," Halfred said, weakly. But the older hobbit pressed him to speak. "What is it?" Bilbo demanded.

"It's. . .it's jus'," Halfred stammered, "The gossip's startin' again, and it's bad. This time they're all afeared for their children gettin' snatched by ruffians, afraid this might happen again. And. . .and some are soundin' awfully concerned for poor Mr. Frodo, sayin' they might try it again, that what's there to stop this from happenin' again – "

"Halfred, that's enough!" Hamfast admonished, clutching his son's arm as he witnessed his master's face turn an alarming shade of green. "Don't talk so!"

"Sorry sir," Halfred said, swallowing. "I shouldn't 've said that, sir."

"No, no it's -" Bilbo trailed off, his face completely draining of color as the utter thought struck him. Elbereth, he hadn't realized that. In the constant rush and worry of just getting Frodo back, he hadn't considered all that was to be dealt with when he was returned. "It's true. I," he looked around Bag End, wildly. Fear rose in him again, accompanied by a suffocating despair. "I can't keep him here!"

"They be just talkin', sir," Halfred protested. "You know how they like to talk. . .it's jus' talk!"

"Not necessarily," Bilbo said, chewing vigorously on his lip. Just the thought. . .if it had happened once, if there was one hobbit willing to do this, what might stop another from doing the same? Now, more than ever, everyone knew how much he was willing to risk for the lad.

With a frustrated groan, he cast himself onto the chair again. He just wished he could rush into the room right now, embrace his nephew and put this all behind them!

But he couldn't, and that thought kept him in place, both out of fear and out of respect for the boy. Frodo wouldn't ever be able to forget this, let alone forgive him. And he couldn't deny that there was a chance this could happen again. Sure, it sounded ridiculous, but then it had seemed ridiculous for this to happen in the first place. He couldn't risk it, not with Frodo, not ever!

It was a simple solution.. 'No.' Bilbo clutched his chest as the answer dawned on him, the worst one but the only one. Significance of what Halfred had said and Saradoc's arrival suddenly made a profound sense, and he realized what he would have to do, even as 'NO!' rung in his ears.

But that was the selfish part of him talking. By the Shire, he wouldn't give Frodo up, not now, not knowing how much he needed the lad, how essential he was to his own self! He couldn't give him up, not for anything!

Except his safety.

How could the lad possibly be safe with him now! After everything he'd put him through. . .how could his boy ever trust him again?

Though it almost seemed comfortable to allow his mind to run round in circles, truth seized him and he couldn't hide from it. He couldn't protect his nephew. His being here, his remaining with him after he'd rescued him. . .he was just putting him in more danger.

For the first time since this had started, Bilbo laid aside his own wishes, his own intentions, as he faced a new chapter to this horror. It wasn't even about him anymore. It was about Frodo, and before anything else happened, the most important thing was for him to be kept safe.

"Sir, should we bring Samwise home?" Hamfast suddenly inquired.

"I - no, it's all right, Hamfast," Bilbo said, rising slowly. "If it's all right with you, he can stay here the rest of the night. I think Frodo would want him here."

"Very well, sir," Hamfast replied. He noticed a slight change in his master. There was a raw pain livid in his eyes, but his features were grim and firmly set. He stood stiff with resolve.

"Sir, what is it?"

"I - I can't keep him here," Bilbo said, shaking his head as though to confirm this for himself.

"Sir, they jus' be rumors!" Halfred protested. Both Gamgees stared at Bilbo in shock.

"Perhaps," he said, evenly. "But then, what if it's not? What if there's one hobbit who takes it serious. And. . .I can't risk letting this happen again. Even if it won't. . .I can't give anyone the chance. . ."

"Then what do you plan to do?" Hamfast inquired.

The older hobbit sighed, scrubbing at his face. "I don't know. . .let Saradoc Brandybuck take Frodo for now. He'll be safe in Brandy Hall, his relatives all know him and care for him there. And then later. . .well . . ."

Ideas started to come to him, lifting some of the weight off his heart. Maybe he could take Frodo away with him, somewhere away from the Shire, Rivendell if he must, anywhere just as long as it was away from here. Elbereth knew the poor boy would benefit from the healing powers of Lord Elrond's land.

"Sir, it's still so soon to make any rash decisions, wouldn't you say?" Hamfast said, carefully. "An' the doctor's said he shouldn't be moved anytime soon."

"I don't mean now, this very moment," he answered, his gaze wandering about his home, skeptically. "But. . .I can't keep him here. Not after all that's happened."

Halfred and Hamfast both knew that Bilbo was exhausted and he'd been through too much in a short amount of time, but he was trying to make decisions too fast. If he just let things settle for a few hours, a few days. . . but they weren't the ones to say.

After a few moments of quiet discussion, the Gamgees bid Bilbo good-bye, and left.

Now there was no avoiding what he had to do. Even as he crept down the hall, his steps slowed every few feet and he had to resist from turning back, or not doing this at all. He didn't WANT to do this. And the closer he walked towards his nephew's door. . .the closer he was to letting him go.

It was so ironic. To have saved him, only to realize that he must lose him to protect him in the way he'd promised he would do.

As Bilbo approached the room, it was the steady voice in his head that willed him forward. 'You're doing the right thing. . . for him.'

His throat clenched as he stopped at the open door. He could hear weeping from inside. It was Sam. He'd positioned himself beside the bed, where Mrs. Gamgee had previously been, and he was looking down at the tiny lump in the bed, covered with layers of blankets and quilts.

He could hear little Samwise whispering to him. They had obviously been talking for a while, and for a second he considered waiting, not wanting to intrude. But Samwise looked up and saw him, and the room was invaded by an uncomfortable silence.

Bilbo approached the bed, each step slow and jerky. He heard Sam whisper, "It's all right, Mr. Frodo, Mr. Bilbo's here now," and the little form beneath stiffen under the blankets.

Frodo tried to calm his ragged breaths as he heard his uncle's presence in the room. Anger and fear still burned into him from his uncle's 'necessary' departure, and he wasn't ready to talk to his uncle. Sam peered down at him, and Frodo poked his hand out from beneath the blankets to clasp his friend's hand. Sam had been there when he'd finally woken up from what felt like years of being lost in that feverish haze. He'd promised him that Bilbo would be backsoon, that he didn't know where he'd gone, but not to worry.

Unfortunately, his uncle's departure had all but re-opened wounds in his heart that he'd just been stupid enough to give into. What could have been so important that his uncle had to leave him just as he dumped him onto his bed? He didn't know. . .maybe, he didn't want to know, especially if were something stupid that would completely crush him again.

Frodo heard his uncle's tentative steps, and he buried his face into his pillow, curling up into a ball despite the pain that wracked his body. His warm blankets, his room, even Sam's hand squeezing his didn't feel like even of a shield from the fresh anguish of the last few hours.

A hand suddenly fell upon his head, the only part of him poking out from the blankets beside his hand, and remained there.

"Frodo," Bilbo whispered, dropping down into a chair. When the boy didn't respond, he turned to Sam. "Is he awake?"

"Yes," Sam said, and bent down closer to the bed. "Sir, Mr. Bilbo's here."

"I know, Sam," came a muffled reply.

He was angry. No wonder.

"Frodo, I'm sorry I had to leave like that," Bilbo said, his voice thick and he leaned closer to the bend, his hand still resting on the boy's curls.

He did sound sorry, Frodo couldn't help but admit. But there was a reluctancy in his voice that strengthened his fear that his uncle was holding back on saying something.

"Are you all right?" Bilbo asked, patting at the heap of blankets upon him. "I mean, are you feeling a little bit better?"

"Yes," he answered. Well, he supposed he was feeling a bit better. The pains in his sides from where Strasser must have kicked him when he was unconscious hurt worse than ever, and his arm was stinging where they had stitched the cut. The doctors had told him they would take a few days to heal. But he was awake, and he could talk without a burning coughing fit coming upon him. . .he supposed that was progress. (He shifted around a little)

"Good. . .I'm glad," Bilbo said, mustering a smile of relief. (He stammered a little)

Frodo's other hand suddenly peeked out from under the pillow, and Bilbo moved to hold it (hoping it was an invitation to hold it). (Yet as he did, his own hand froze and a cold lump formed in his throat as he) Then he saw the deep gouges in the tiny wrist where the ropes had cut into his skin, and the smile drained from his face.

His head fell, guilt ripping his insides apart. (Being freshly ripped apart.) He knew what he had to do.

"Why did you leave?" Frodo asked, abruptly. His tone was muffled by the pillow, but bitterness still seeped through.

"I didn't want to," Bilbo said, quickly, and rose again from the chair so that he was perched over him. "I. . .you've been through so much tonight, and before, I. . .I don't know if you want to know just yet."

"Tell me," Frodo responded, bitterly, flinching as he felt his uncle smoothing out the covers over him. Fury and fear warred within him, and he couldn't figure out which one to listen to more.

"There. . .there was a hobbit," Bilbo's defeated voice reached his ears. "It was a hobbit that told those ruffians about you, and my. . .my money."

"I know," Frodo mumbled.

"Oh," Bilbo breathed. "I. . .I didn't know if you knew. Did you see him? Did you know who it was?"

"No," Frodo said, the awful memory of the hobbit slinking away from him, wrapping himself up in a nice, warm shawl as he lay freezing in the grass coming back to him. "His face had been covered," he added, wondering why Bilbo was telling him this.

"Oh. . .I see. Well," he stammered, frustrated at how hard it suddenly was to articulate a single sentence. What was the matter with him, after he'd worked up so much to say to his nephew, and now he was stumbling over the simplest explanations! Frodo's stiff, bitter replies were making it all the more difficult. "Well, we caught him," he finished. "Rather, the rangers that helped to save you caught him. And. . .they needed me to identify him, to make sure he was the same one that I'd seen in the forest."

Frodo was silent for a moment. "Who was it?"

"It was Sandyman. He's. . .or rather, he was, the miller in Hobbiton."

"Sandyman?" The name didn't sound familiar, even after his three months living in Hobbiton. Groaning a little, Frodo lifted his head and turned, frowning indiscernibly. "Who's that?"

"I know, you don't know him," Bilbo said, heavily. "I barely did. But he's the one that – "

Bilbo's voice cut off as he watched Frodo's eyes drop. A wild, haunted look filled them as flashes of everything he must've been through came back in a tumult.

"Frodo," he whispered, his voice cracking a little. When he tried to put a hand on his shoulder, the boy stiffened and a hard, pained expression came into his face before he pulled away, burying his face in his pillow.

It had been more out of instinct than genuine anger that made him flinch at the touch, and Frodo saw his uncle shrink a little, but he couldn't help it.

Frodo's response tore at another string in Bilbo's insides. So he was angry with him. No wonder. He deserved it. And they had so much to talk out, he had so much to apologize for. . .but the reminder of what he knew he had to do came back. That had to come first, he had to let Frodo know that he was safe, that this wouldn't happen ever again.

Bilbo positioned himself in his chair, sliding it as closely to the bed as he could. He didn't want to do this. His heart screamed not to. . . but it wasn't about what he wanted.

"Frodo listen," he said, forcing his voice to remain even. "I'm so sorry this happened. I. . . I can't say enough how sorry I am."

Bilbo looked for a response, hoping that his nephew would acknowledge him somehow, yet he remained silent beneath the covers, making it all the more difficult to go on. If only he would look at him. . .just so he could see his face. . .

"This was my fault, Frodo," he said. "For more reasons than I can ever list. But just. . .whatever happened there. . . know that you're home now. You're safe." Bilbo reached out, and touched the curls again to emphasize this point. He felt a flurry of hope when the boy relaxed slightly.

"But. . .but now after everything's that happened, there's still danger. There's still the chance that you're in danger. It's horrible, but I. . .I've put you in this danger, bringing you here. And that's the last thing I want," he paused to swallow, trying to avert his eyes at seeing Sam's face scrunching up. "That's why. . .your Uncle Saradoc's coming here tomorrow, along with Merry to see you. And I'm. . . I'm going to ask him to take you back to Brandy Hall. Maybe just for a little while, as things settle down," he added, remembering the idea he'd bring up to him later of traveling to Rivendell. "I know that you don't like in Brandy Hall very much, but you'll be protected there. You'll be safe."

The little lump beneath the covers was silent. Bilbo bent over him, trying to discern what response, if any, he would get from the boy.

"Frodo," he whispered.

"Go away," came a muffled replied.

Tears started in his eyes, (he felt the urge to gather him up in his arms, just take him away, forget the idea. He didn't know if he had the strength to let him go, not now, but he had to. . . he wasn't safe here. . . ). "Frodo please, understand, I don't want to do this – "

"Just go away!" Frodo cried, gasping against the pain as he maneuvered himself so that he was turned completely away from his uncle.

Bilbo nearly slumped over the bed, tremors of defeat threatening to overcame him. His head pitched down to his chest. More than anything, he wanted to take it back, to gather the boy in his arms and just vanish from the Shire forever. . .but now, his nephew would most likely strike him if he dared speak to him again.

His nephew didn't want him there. He'd told him to leave. If it was the only thing he could do for him, he obeyed, and walked out the door.

Frodo sobbed into the pillow. That. . . that was it. That was what he'd feared. From the moment he'd walked out the door that morning so long ago, to the moment Bilbo had crept into the room, guilt and discomfort already evident in his presence. His uncle didn't want him here. Or no, he was 'afraid' to keep him here, as he so eloquently attempted to lie. He could talk all he wanted about wanting to keep him safe, and fearing for his safety. It didn't matter, it was the same result, the same ending. In a few days, he was going to find himself back in Brandy Hall.

There was no uncle eager to welcome him home. . .no home to call his own. . .no happy ending, or something even closely resembling one waiting for him somewhere beyond everything terrible that had happened.

Why was he so shocked?

"Mr. Frodo, it's all right," Samwise's tear-filled voice penetrated the dark haze, and Frodo felt his friend laying comforting hands upon his trembling shoulders.

But as Frodo felt his hear ripped of its remaining shreds, he knew it wasn't. It wasn't going to be. Never again.

TBC

(Waves as everyone abandons the story). Please o please don't kill me! It's not the smoothest road to recovery, at least not the first few hours.

Happy Ending, I swear!

The first day's a bit rough on everybody, as the shock settles in, dramatic irony makes another appearance as Bilbo tries so hard to do the right thing, or at least what he thinks is the right thing, and does not communicate properly as always and Frodo gets the wrong ideas, etc., and angst therefore ensues. Dammit, they're going to need someone to communicate for them. Anyone guess who? :)

I'm being rough on the race of hobbits as a mass, I know. I'm trying to convey how the panic of everything that's going about is bringing different reactions to different hobbits, and now some are more afraid than ever of the outside world and some are just spreading mean gossip. Though there aren't necessarily others out there who would do such a thing as what Sandyman did, (btw, explanation will be suggested later as to why he was bad like that) but it doesn't matter to Bilbo who's now obsessed with ensuring his nephew's safety. Doesn't come up with the most desired solution, for himself OR Frodo, but he's really, really tired at this point. I don't think he's slept in a few days.

Everything sorted out soon! Just bare with me this first day of complications that seemed inevitable.

Next few chapter's are all in the works, a speedy update I promise!


	27. Merry Returns

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

E-Mail: 

Rating: PG-13 for violence, cursing and wee hobbit suffering.

Disclaimer: I neither own, nor make any money off these characters.

A/N: Here are two new chapters for this posting. For the sake of all you dear readers, whose reviews are constantly making my days better, I am trying my best to get as much of this written before college resumes. These two chapters seemed to flow pretty quickly onto the paper, but because they're a bit different in their subject matter, and they're both reasonably long I've decided to keep them separated as two chapters. Hope everyone enjoys!

While the outlook as to how much of the remainder of the story will be posted before I start college again, I promise that I WILL leave it off within the realm of hope, healing, comfort, etc., and not a nasty cliffhanger like I did last time. :)

Heartofahobbit: Hey Heartofahobbit! "Is being paranoid a hobbit trait?": Eek, not really but under the circumstances I'm trying to make it appear as though Bilbo's acting at least a bit rationally. I've put him through a lot. "Will Merry overcome his jealousy of Bilbo's place in Frodo's affections? Or will he try to 'play up' Frodo's impending visit to Brandy Hall to make Frodo want to remain there?": Read on and see! Both will be answered. And yes, this story's very much consumed me at this point, but that's what always happen when I write a story aka long story aka novel. :)

Anna T. Bell: Lorella, you have changed your name! Welcome back, I was wondering where you'd gone. "Shall Sam be the communicator?": Read and see. There'll be more than one. Everyone's got something to beef out in this story, it's almost a scandal really. Everyone's 'hiding' something.

Catgurl: Thanks Catgurl for all your lovely reviews, I appreciate you took the time to pause on your way up to the last chapter. :)

Chloe Amethyst: "I'm ready to strangle Bilbo right now, he needs some lessons in child psychology": (sigh) If only such a thing existed in Middle Earth. That would be the idea, set them on a couch side by side in front of the best child psychologist around. Couldn't argue that Bilbo didn't have the dough to pay for it. Do not fear! A substitute for a psychologist will soon appear and help get this mess sorted out.

Eiluj: Thanks for the lovely review and reassurances, eiluj. :)

Shirebound: "This must be as hard to write as it is to read": Pretty much, dear Shirebound. It's been the reassuring mantra in my head 'happy ending' and 'all suffering has meaning behind it' that dragged me through this, also the fact that you'd all kill me with perfect right otherwise. :) Also, that's a good personification, comparing Sam to a 'security blanket.' Lord knows Frodo needs quite a few of those, and yes Sam's going to be a big help in Frodo's recovery.

Myfanwy: (quickly hands Myfanwy a sht load of tissues) I sorry! Though I'm a bit confused, while I am wracking my mind going 'ack why I am inflicting this horrible agony on dear readers such as Myfanwy' and then suddenly you're asking for more serious angst.. . ..? Hehee, BellaMonte's a bit confused, though comforted you're reading even when I'm inducing nightmares. A great comfort! "Will someone please just smack Bilbo in the next chapter and get him to TALK to Frodo?": Bilbo slappage coming soon.

Arwen Baggins: Greetings, Arwen! Danke for the review! AU (I know there's so much fanfic terminology) stands for 'Alternate Universe,' and in the case of this story I think I've gone far enough off the official LoTR storyline to make it AU, though where the story concludes will suggest that LoTR could happen in the future. And yeah, I'm altering some character's, such as Sandyman, but that's the freedom in writing au. :)

WildFire203: Thanks for the lovely review, WildFire! Here here for that, I love it too when a fellow writer responds back to one of my desperate rants. And puhshaw! about your story sucking. You never know if it's great or not, and the author's often the least to judge. Is it LoTR or some other fandom? Post it! There's never enough great writing out there.

Peony: "This story is becoming excruciating!" (Bows head) I know, believe me these last chapters have been agony to write, it's only been the good stuff coming up that's driven me to continue. "How is he (Bilbo) going to sort this all out?": With some Gamgee help. :)

Idril Telrunya: Thanks for the review, Idril! (I still remember you as Elrinna Wood! :) "I think I'd go nuts if I didn't know how it ended!": LoL, well then be rest assured, I'm not going to stop feeling nuts until I end it. Thanks for picking out the descriptive parts you liked, they're always the most tedious to edit, and it's so very much appreciated when they're noticed. Hope you like the next part! (ahem, two parts)

Endymion: Hey Endymion! "All this self-loathing, guilt, anger, fear. . .you should send for a psychiatrist": LOL, I think you're right about that, though we'll have someone like a psychiatrist soon enough to help sort all this bloody mess out. Heheee, your take on the despair of being regarded as a PhD when you're not was quite hysterical! I'd love to be called doctor without having to work for the title! "Reading this nearly makes me bite into the screen": Hehee, don't worry, the doctors don't play a big part except for that last chapter. Enjoy the next parts!

Sorrowful Eagle: Well, you're putting me up to a challenge now, eh Sorrowful Eagle? Heheee! This was perhaps not my quickest posting, but lo and behold here's two chapters, so I hope it makes up the difference of time. But ahh, am trying to resist eating too many gingerbread hobbits, BellaMonte's trying to write while running on the treadmill in an effort to lose weight. Perhaps I'll just snatch a few more (grabs whole thing and runs).

ShadowGraffiti: Eeek! You've now inflicted upon the me guilt trip of distracting you from your earnest studies! (winks) You're lucky, you have a Frodo plushie. I just have TTT Fellowship stickers. :)

Budgielover: Greetings, Budgie! (Congrats on finishing SNP! No problem with beginning a different fic, I love it! Brilliant take on the missing Rivendell scene, I shall review it promptly!) "We want lots and lots of comfort. .": Very, very, very, very soon (I know how many times have I said that now? This time it's for real. If the next two chapters aren't enough, then I promise, next posting. :)

Shlee Verde: Shlee! My buddy! Yes indeed, I've inflicted great pent up emotion over men into this story. On your recent insights, (sigh) I can't agree with you more! As the next chapter (one after this one) will prove, it'll be the little hobbit tykes that really understand what's going on, while the adult figures (Bilbo, Saradoc) will be a bit less attentive to what Frodo's real deal is at the moment. So yes, Sam's going to be a voice of reason, as well as another Gamgee (grins). Enjoy!

Thanks to everybody who reviewed, you are truly the fuel that drives me on in this story and will continue to do so until the end. :)

The morning came much sooner than usual to the Shire. A cool fog set close to the ground, still thick and gray as the sun had not yet risen.

"It shouldn't be much longer, Master Brandybuck," the wagon driver declared from over his shoulder. They had just crossed the bridge into Hobbiton, yet the fog made it difficult to discern where they were beyond what they could see at an arm's length outside the wagon.

"Thank you," Saradoc Brandybuck replied, leaning back against his seat and trying to fight off another jaw-cracking yawn. He'd been fighting fatigue ever since he'd been awoken in the middle of the night to a chaotic Smial, though the long ride had given him to digest the news that had driven him to Bag End first thing.

It was still hard to know what to think or believe. After days of recovering from the dreadful shock that his nephew

was dead, to be informed that his nephew was not only alive, but safe at Bag End after his uncle had succeeded in saving him from the men that had captured him. . .well, perhaps it was best that it was a several hour trip from Tookland to Hobbiton. He had needed the time to recover and allow the wonderful news to sink in.

His son, Meriadoc, who sat beside him did not appear his take on the situation as he sat, fidgeting with the blanket over him and squirming in his seat. He wished he could be as calm and collected as his father, but with the indescribable news that had reached his ears at waking, the idea of being calm was frankly impossible.

"Frodo's alive!"

"Frodo Baggins? Nonsense!"

"No indeed, my dear Peony, the lad's been saved!"

"Bless me, how can that be? It's wonderful!"

"Unbelievable, really!"

Bursting from his bed, Merry had scrambled out into the hall where relatives still dressed in their night-time attire were all bustling about, declaring the same words that struck him more powerfully than any other.

Frodo. was. alive.

It was hard to be entirely accurate, but thinking back Merry estimated it had taken him the space of about two and a half minutes to dress, pack and give his cousin Pippin who slept in the bed beside him a tight hug before scrambling out the door and into the wagon.

Now they were on their way to Bag End, though the trip was a bit too slow for his liking. Huffing impatiently, Merry stood up in his seat in an effort to see where on Middle Earth they were!

Damn how foggy it was in the mornings! He knew they'd crossed the bridge into Hobbiton, but beyond that there was no telling whether the hole they passed was just a few down from Bag End, or ten streets.

His cousin was alive!

The reminder sent another rush of adrenaline through him, and he bounced up and down in his seat, practically ready to burst with excitement. He was grinning like a drunken fool, but what better occasion than this?

HIS COUSIN WAS ALIVE! Uncle Bilbo had saved him!

On his list of daily tasks he was instructed to keep, he would remind himself to perform any list of chores and favors his wonderful uncle required to show how much he was indebted to him. Well, that would be after he gave him the biggest, tightest hug imaginable and that would be after he'd finally seen his cousin!

"Father, are we there yet?" he asked, twisting around in the seat to try and differentiate some idea of where they were.

"Not yet, Meriadoc," Saradoc said, readjusting the quilt in an attempt to appease him. "Just sit still. We'll be there soon."

No sooner had Saradoc declared thus that his son's eyes widened into two enormous saucers, and he looked to see the edge of Bilbo's fence extending to the end of the road beside them.

"We're here!" Merry cried, flinging the blanket off of him.

"Meriadoc, wait!" Saradoc instructed, "Just hold on."

Not possible. In fact, no word as 'wait' signaled any familiarity to the little hobbit's ears at all as he scrambled out of his seat and leapt from the wagon while it was still moving. His feet hit the cold, soggy ground and in an instant he was bolting up the road, through the gate and up the steps until he'd collapsed against the door.

"Uncle, we're here, we're here, let me in!" he wailed, pounding on the door with all his might.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long before the door opened and his uncle appeared, looking tired and worn as he stood in the doorway.

"My lad, you're here fast, I hadn't expected you till elvensies," he began, opening the door fully.

Despite his exhausted appearance, he was quick to catch Merry before the little hobbit could scramble past him.

"Woah, slow down Merry."

"No, no uncle please!" Merry protested, panting. "Let me through!"

"Shh, just wait a moment," he said, beseechingly. "Ah, Saradoc," he said, looking up and greeting the approachgin hobbit with a slow, respectful nod.

"Bilbo," Saradoc returned the nod as he made his up the last of the steps. "We came as fast as he would," he said, and to his son's dismay he caught him by the sleeve of his arm.

"Merry, just wait," Bilbo said, lowering his hands in appeasement before returning his attention to Saradoc. "Come in, please, you both look exhausted."

"So do you, my friend," Saradoc replied.

Merry saw his uncle huff silently as he took their coats, and for some strange reason seemed to avert his eyes at the look of sympathy from his father. "I'm fine," he said. "Let's just get you in. Can I get you anything, tea?"

"Tea would be fine, thank you," Saradoc said, suddenly gasping as his arm was nearly wrenched out of its socket by his son's furious attempts to break away. "Merry, please calm down for a moment!" he admonished.

"No, I need to see him!" Merry cried, twisting anxiously in his father's grasp. He didn't care if he was scolded for it later, or if his uncle didn't invite him back here ever again, he just needed to see his cousin!

How could they possible ask him to be still? It was ludicrous!

"How is he?" Saradoc asked, finally getting to the point. If Merry hadn't been so busy trying to work his way out of his shirt, which was only restraining him by a sleeve, he would've paused at the raw concern and desperation in his father's voice.

Bilbo couldn't restrain the sigh that escaped him of one burdened with a weight he did not wish to pass on to another.

"He's. . .he's going to be all right," he said, heavily. "It's going to take some time of course, but from what the doctor's have said – " With that, the two older hobbits fell into heavy discussions, both their voices low and grave so Merry wasn't able to hear. Not that it mattered, as he was still fighting to get out of his shirt.

"Merry, please," Bilbo said, in weary exasperation. Pausing in his conversation with Saradoc, he bent down so he was eye level with the lad and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Frodo's sleeping right now," he said, softly. "He's been through a terribly ordeal, even this night, and he just fell asleep a few hours ago. He needs rest."

"I know, uncle," Merry remonstrated, "but I just want to see him, please! What harm will that do?"

Saradoc Brandybuck groaned softly, and for a moment removed his tired arm, thinking Bilbo had a firm grasp on him. But Merry was quick to feel the release of his father's hold, and in an instant he broke away, scuttling down the hall to Frodo's room.

"Merry, no!" he heard his uncle call from not far behind him, and he just managed to dodge Mrs. Gamgee as she came out of a neighboring room.

Bursting through the door, he quickly slammed it closed with an enormous smack, locking himself in.

Immediately he heard the muffled voices of his uncle and father from behind the door, commanding him to open up this instant. He knew he'd be punished for this later, the strap might even be waiting for him, but he didn't care.

"Who's there?" a weak, groggy voice spoke out.

Practically quivering in suspense, Merry swivelled around and uttered a cry of joy as he watched the outline of his cousin's dark, curly head rise, and the covers shift as he feebly attempted to sit up.

"Frodo!" he choked, indescribable relief swimming through him. He just couldn't get to the bed fast enough.

Dragging the heaps of quilts away, he closed the distance of weeks apart, and engulfed his cousin in a hug.

"M-merry, stop!" Frodo gasped, the surprise at seeing his cousin lost in the blinding pain that tore through him as his mangled body crumbled in the embrace. His back seared where Merry's arms wrapped around him, and his plea was swallowed in a strangled moan.

"Frodo, you're alive, you're here," Merry whispered, his voice muffled as he buried his face in his cousin's shoulder.

Frodo had just something, but he couldn't hear him, so oblivious he was to anything but the fact that his cousin whom he loved so much was right here with him. When just hours ago he'd gone to sleep with the aching reminder that he'd never see his cousin again, never hug him again. . . . "Oh Frodo, I missed you so much!"

"Merry, get off!" Frodo choked, his voice grating against the tremors that wracked his frame. His arm was on fire where Merry's arm pressed directly against the stitches, and his shoulders shook from the agony that laced up his back. "Please, please," he begged, "Let go."

The arms around him loosened, slowly and reluctantly, and he broke away, gasping. His cousin's face swam into view. . . a little pale, his blond curls a bit more unkempt than usual as though he'd just gotten up. . . .but it was still Merry, the same Merry he'd never expected to see again.

An enormous tidal of emotion rose inside him, most of it too consuming to differentiate, and the rest a scuffle between heartache and mirth.

He looked just the same. . .

"Frodo, you're here!" Merry cried, still disregarding, or perhaps not noticing the pain he was causing him as he grasped his forearms.

Frodo tried to nod, swallowing another choking breath as the pain slowly receded from his sides. Oh, how it hurt still. . .the doctor had said it would still feel like that for several days. . .

"I thought you were dead!" Merry suddenly whispered, his eyes roaming over his cousin's shaking form, still taking in that he was here. "I didn't think I would ever see you again!"

_That makes two of us_ Frodo thought, his heart aching.

His cousin's earlier words came back to him, and a cold feeling crept into him, warring with relief. "Why did you think that?" he asked, frowning. A cough escaped him.

"Why, because of what happened!" Merry breathed. "When Uncle Bilbo didn't get you back that night." His blue eyes clouded over with grief. "We all thought they'd killed you."

Bitterness seized Frodo in an instant. What fault was it of HIS that he hadn't returned? Confusion muddled his thoughts, in knowing close to nothing of what had happened here in the last weeks, but obviously Merry hadn't been properly informed as to why the kidnappers hadn't let him go, or which party had refused to comply first.

Oh Elbereth, he was tired. No sooner did the anger surge inside of him that exhaustion followed, and he brought his bandaged hand up to rub at his stinging eyes. Feeling had returned to his other arm, but it was still stiff and ached if he tried to move it.

"What happened?" Merry asked in alarm, observing the bandage covering his hand. Before Frodo could squirm under the blankets, he felt his cousin eyeing him critically, just now looking beyond the fact that his cousin was there to see how thin and battered he was. Merry finally raised his head, his face a mix of fear and anger. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

Dizziness assailed him at the simplicity of that question. "Merry, please," he whispered..

"No, Frodo, what happened?" Merry demanded.

Pain ripped along his side again, and he swallowed. It hurt sitting up, he just wanted to lay down and go back to sleep. . .he wanted Merry to stop asking him questions. . .

Merry's eyes narrowed darkly when his cousin didn't reply. "I'll kill them," he sneered. "If they. . .were they caught?"

"I. . .yes," Frodo said, coughing brokenly. He looked over at the small table placed there, his water glass was empty. He needed more or he'd start coughing again. . .

"But then what happened?" Merry pressed, anxiously. "I was so worried."

"Were you," he mumbled.

"Yes, of course I was! Why – " suddenly Merry went off, and Frodo felt fresh stings of bitterness swiftly replacing his relief at seeing his cousin. He couldn't help it, why wouldn't Merry shut up, why wouldn't he stop asking him to talk, why wouldn't he stop looking so shocked?

What on Middle Earth did they _expect _him to look like?

"Just. . .just stop please," he whispered, wincing against the searing pain it took in the simple action of sinking back against his pillows. For a moment he sat, gulping big mouthfuls of air, while the tender parts of his back and sides adjusted to the new position.

When he looked up, his cousin was still staring at him, his typically cheerful face contorted in an unbecoming mask of pain.

Frodo looked away again, the intensity in that look enough to break down the barriers of humiliation and bitterness that assaulted him. He couldn't stand it, that look he kept getting, that same horrified, pitying look. It wasn't the look he'd hoped for, or wanted to see at the moment of his return.

Could he blame though, he realized with a sinking heart. This hadn't turned out to be the rescue he'd expected either, where his uncle left at first chance, in favor of getting revenge on that hobbit. . .he couldn't even remember his name. . .and leaving him to the doctors. . .

He'd still been sick with fever, but flashes of what happened came back, the screams that erupted from him when they'd tried to get the infection out of him. A solution to his screaming? Very much the same as the ruffians, knock him out. Suddenly, he'd been back in the forest, and nothing, not Mrs. Gamgee's comforting words or anything could ease his panic.

"_Frodo, we're going to sedate you," the doctor had informed him, pleasantly, while Strasser was in the background sneering, "Where are some belladonna plants?" _

_Flashes, all too clear, of Tony clamping the sweet-scented rag over his face, suffocating him in sleep. . _.

He'd passed out. Or maybe that had been the doctor's hand over his face, and not Tony's . . .he wasn't sure.

Not that it mattered. He had woken with the same livid dread that stirred inside of him when he'd been in that attic for the first time. What was to happen next. . .where was he going?. . .

"_Brandy Hall, my lad," his uncle's voice responded. "You'll be protected there."_

Protected from what, the men from Bree or his relative's scornful, triumphant expressions, he'd wanted to ask had tears not closed off his throat. Frodo had wished his uncle would be honest with him. At this point, was there really any reason to not admit that he didn't want him, and now this added burden he'd become served well as an excuse to send him back. . .when he would've been going back anyway, even if this hadn't happened. . .

Frodo buried his face in his pillow, his chest aching so much that it was hard to breathe. He'd been SO STUPID! To think it was all right, even for a second! So stupid! And he'd known it, even as he'd cracked in his uncle's arms, while he was lamenting the fact that he couldn't handle him. . .

"Frodo, I'm sorry," Merry suddenly whispered. "There's so much I need to tell you, things I've wanted to say for so long and I never thought I'd be able to. . ."

Frodo sniffed, turning around so he was facing his cousin. Wonderful, more apologizes. It was strange, disappointing really, how he'd expected an apology from everyone to help. Instead, it just seemed to make what happened all the more real.

"Yes, well," Frodo began. He might as well make Merry's day and tell him what his uncle's excellent plans were for him. "It's all right, because you're getting your wish – "

"No, it's not all right!" Merry growled, digging his fists into the sheets. "I. . .I should've waited for you. I was so stupid. I just thought you were still angry with me, and left me there."

"What?" Frodo asked. He and Merry were obviously talking about two different things. Strange, suddenly the fact that his cousin wasn't apologizing for what happened hurt, when the assumed apology meant nothing to him at all. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry that I didn't wait for you," he said, biting his lip, furiously. "When we were supposed to go exploring. If I had, I might've. . ."

"You mean you didn't?" Frodo cried.

"No, I went to Tuckborough," Merry admitted, cheeks burning as he saw the look of anguish on his cousin's face. "I did wait for a little while, but then I left didn't tell Uncle Bilbo you never came. I just thought you were still angry at me for what I'd said."

"You would," he muttered, suddenly unable to look Merry in the eye. "Since when was it me who started it, anyway?"

Memories of their last conversation together came back to him. For a second he wondered why, after all the horrible things that had happened since then, that their fight about Bilbo and Bag End didn't pale in comparison, but instead felt raw as though it had happened yesterday.

'Merry's getting his wish sooner than he thinks.'

"I know, I was stupid," Merry confessed, his head lowered.

"You're forgiven," Frodo answered, dully. He didn't mean it, and they both knew it.

An abrupt, awkward silence fell between them.

"Well. . .are you all right?" Merry asked, hesitantly. Immediately he realized what a dumb question that was, of course his cousin wasn't all right. "I mean, what happened?"

Though his cousin's tone lacked its usual cheerfulness, there was an eagerness to it that was unnerving. Frodo felt his anger rise, along with a suffocating humiliation. Merry sounded as he did when he used to sneak into his room late at night, beginning for a story.

To tell him what happened. . .if he were that stupid, or that cruel, he'd grimly consider which part his cousin would like best to hear. . .

Without even needing to close his eyes, random memories pierced his vision, so vivid and painful that it felt as though he were still there. . . when he closed his eyes, he WAS there.

_. . . Bree. . . .a muddy swamp with black, jagged buildings on either side, lit only by oil lamps and the flash of heavy rain pouring down. Men trudged through the streets, casting suspicious glares at each other, all marred and poisoned by the darkness of that place. . ._

_. . .Screams ripping his throat as Tony's blade bit into his hand. . ._

_. . . "Wimpy little halfling lives with his uncle in a golden palace an' never got his clothes dirty. You should see what ye look like now!". . ._

Frodo felt bile in the back of his throat, as everything came to him more clearly than his own room, and he felt sick.

He couldn't tell Merry. Even now, when he was practically shaking with anger and bitterness towards him. . .he wouldn't tell him that. Ever.

"You don't want to know, Merry," he whispered.

"But Frodo," Merry protested, as his cousin buried his face into his pillow. "You can tell me. Frodo," he said, giving his cousin a slight nudge when he didn't answer.

Frodo gasped, recoiling, and Merry jerked his hand back. He swallowed back tears, realizing his mistake.

"Frodo, all you all right?" he asked, faintly, a great fear suddenly coming upon him that Frodo's silence wasn't just because he was angry at him.

Oh, how he wished they'd all just stop asking him that! Did they really expect him to rise up with a grin and say it was all right? That after what happened, he was happy to be saved, only to hear his uncle sentence him to a place he'd wanted so desperately to leave, so happy to have left. . .so afraid to go back. . .

Frodo swallowed a hard lump in his throat, and turned away.

"Go away, Merry," he whispered.

Struck dumb by these words, Merry looked down at his poor, battered cousin. A sudden stiffness started to claw at him, making him immobile and helpless to hide from the cold truth sinking into him of how changed his cousin was. How hurt, how frightened. He looked so small, almost fragile in the way he feebly shifted in his bed. As he turned, Merry could see with shining eyes a large shadow on his cheek he didn't notice before, looking like a faded bruise. . .

But it wasn't just that. Horror seized him most acutely and forced him out of the room at his cousin's order when he realized that he may have lost his cousin after all. There was a rawness in his face, which conveyed horrors faced, and heartaches stripped of their shield to reveal a creature too weak and helpless to hide from them any longer.

Frodo stared out the window at the beautiful view of the Shire with its green, flowing hills and the carpet of fog hanging above it in the morning mist. He had just told Merry a few weeks ago how marvelous it was waking up in the morning to that view, how it captured his imagination and enticed him to just run outside. But now, those great blue eyes that had once held such wonder looked dulled, and lost.

"Bilbo, are you sure you don't have a key for the lock?" Saradoc asked, his eyes intent on the nearby door.

The older hobbit sighed, digging the palms of his hands into his forehead.

"I think Frodo left it in there. . .I'm not sure. . ."

Saradoc nodded. "Well, he can't stay there in forever. I don't suppose it would do well to knock the door down," he added, grimly.

"A small utensil might be able to open it," Halfred suggested. "Like a fork or knife, perhaps."

"Yes, Halfred, that might work," Bilbo said, "Why not go and fetch us one?"

The young Gamgee nodded, but he paused as they all heard a soft chink from behind them. They turned, and watched as the door opened, and a less than excited Merry edged out, closing the door softly behind him. He didn't look up, but they managed to catch a glimpse of the white, haunted expression in his face before he slid to the floor, and sobbed.

TBC

Keep going! More that way –––– 


	28. Battle Between Distant Relations

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

E-Mail: 

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I own not the characters, I merely play with them.

A/N: This chapter goes to Obelia Medusa, who helped inspire various parts of Merry's internal monologue with her chapter 13 of "The Making of a Ringbearer: Adrift." Thank you, my dear! Now please engross me some more soon with new chapters! :)

The garden outside Bag End was a disgrace. Flowers bent and withered from thirst and not being trimmed properly, and weeds had sprouted everywhere. . .it was shameful. If not for Mr. Bilbo's command for him to not bother with it for a few days, Samwise would have made a grab for his tools instead of slouching in the little bench, staring out at the Shire below.

It was so pretty, the way the hills fell and rose together in slow, gentle slopes, seeming to go on forever. . .to think that Mr. Frodo had been farther away than those splendid hills stretching out into the distance. . .

He must have fallen nodded off while watching over his friend, for when he'd woken to find himself on a cough in Mr. Bilbo's den, a blanket draped over him. Knowing Mr. Frodo was still sleeping peacefully, he had come out here to pass the time.

He wasn't alone for very long. The abrupt sound of the door opening roused him, and he turned to see Merry come shuffling out. His eyes were red and puffy from crying, and he wiped his nose with his sleeve as he closed the door behind him.

"Hello, Sam," said the young Brandybuck, dropping down onto the front step.

"Good mornin, Mr. Merry," he greeted, the reminder that it was morning a bit heartening. At long last, the sun was finally beginning to peek through the clouds that had set in later that night, and he could feel the dewy warmth of the new day in the air.

Merry didn't need to give explanation for why he was out here with him. Samwise knew what had happened, it had been Mr. Bilbo and Master Brandybuck's angry shouting for Merry to open the door that had first woken him in the first place. From the looks of it, Mr. Merry had just been struck by the same anguish and guilt as everyone else, seeing what torment poor Mr. Frodo had gone through. They had all tried to prepare themselves, but it had been heartbreaking to see how hurt and scared he was, as though he couldn't escape the nightmare even now when he was home and safe in his own bed.

Sam suspected that no hobbit, with the exception of Mr. Bilbo perhaps, was feeling the weight of guilt so intensely as Mr. Merry. He watched in pity as the young Brandybuck buried his face in his knees, grabbing at his curls, his shoulders shaking slightly. He still blamed himself for this.

Sam's mother had always tried to help her son get through the hard times, in particular the recent death of a relative, by telling them that sometimes horrible things happened, and there was no way of foreseeing them. Therefore, the best thing anyone could do was not to dwell on what happened, but focus upon what one had now, and what one could do in the future. Sam had been trying to settle the grief within himself in this way, telling himself that there was no way this could have been anticipated, even with an imagination as active as Mr. Bilbo's.

The greatest torment for Sam had not been why such a terrible thing happened, but why it had to happen to Mr. Frodo.

Whether Mr. Merry was pondering on these seemingly unanswerable questions or not, Sam didn't know. But he remembered his dear Mother's advice, that dwelling be not the answer to most affairs, and he decided to apply it to the young, sulking Brandybuck.

"How was your trip back, sir?" he asked.

Merry paused in answering for a moment, dragging his head up from where it was pressed into his knees.

"It was all right," he said, tiredly. "We didn't actually go back to Buckland. My father wasn't exactly ready to go home and tell everyone what happened, so we went to Tuckborough where I'd stayed before. I think it was better there than having to go home, I got to see my cousin Pippin," he said, his voice trailing off.

Closing his eyes, he could still picture his little cousin's chestnut curls peeking out from amidst the great crowd that met them as they'd entered the smial. Pippin had been so happy to see him back so soon. Though he was too young to really understand what had happened, he'd astonished Merry in his unquestioning efforts to cheer him up.

When his older cousin had lay in bed for days, Pippin would scurry about the room, poking at his sides and interrupting him from staring vacantly at a wall by popping his head up and making funny faces, or grunting noises. More than once he'd also tried to bring in toys for Merry to play with, toys that had absolutely no interest to a tweenager but still helped to lift his spirits, even slightly. And every night, Pippin would sneak out of his own room and Merry would either find him asleep beside him the next morning, or, when he'd awoken more than once from a terrible nightmare, crying, his little cousin had been there, wrapping his arms about him and stroking his curls, comfortingly.

Thinking back on it now, Merry was pretty sure that he might have become ill with grief, had Pippin not been there with him. He wished he hadn't been so damn impatient and paused for more than a second to say good-bye to him, though he was sure his Aunt Esmy would explain everything to him on why he needed to get back here so quickly.

"He's been so hurt," Merry whispered, his throat sore from crying. "Did you see his hand? And he cried when I tried to hug him. . ." he buried his face in his knees again. "He wouldn't even look at me. . .those ugly, horrible monsters! How could they?"

"I don't know sir," Sam said, softly. "Mr. Frodo is such a kind, gentle hobbit. . ."

"No, I mean how could they, really!" Merry exclaimed. "I mean, Frodo is just SO good, he couldn't even raid a pantry without feeling guilt, even if he tried to hide it. And. . .and his face is just so innocent, he had no idea how many times he was spared from punishments by aunts that couldn't help but melt in thinking he were too adorable, as they put it." Merry lifted his head again, his face white with bewilderment. "How could anyone want to hurt him like that? Just, how could they?"

"Go away, Merry," Frodo had said to him. His poor cousin. . .he had tried to sound angry, but even now he was still incapable of hiding the pain and defeat that lived in his voice.

"He must've been so scared," Merry whispered, his gaze tracing over the land laid out before them. "He didn't even look relieved to be home."

"I s'pect it might take 'im a while to realize it's all over," Sam said, his mind already debating whether or not to tell Mr. Merry about what happened earlier. He found himself continuing before he'd even rested on a firm decision. "And. . .well, Mr. Bilbo sort of upset 'im a bit earlier, unintentionally of course, but there it is."

"How?" Merry pressed.

"Well, he's a bit afraid Mr. Frodo's still in danger living here with 'im," Sam admitted, sadly. "There be cruel rumors goin' around that someone else'll try to kidnap poor Mr. Frodo again, an' Mr. Bilbo told 'im that he were goin' to send 'im back to Brandy Hall to make sure he'd be safe. An', well, Mr. Frodo sort of took that to mean that his uncle were just kicking 'im out."

"WHAT?" Merry exclaimed, turning, his eyes wide with astonishment. "Are you serious? Bilbo's sending Frodo back?"

The curly head nodded.

"An. . .an' no offense upon your home, sir," Sam added, bringing his brown hands up in gesture, "I'm sure it's beautiful where you live. But that warn't exactly what Mr. Frodo wanted, I think. He'd been tellin' me how he didn't think Mr. Bilbo wanted 'im, even when I told 'im he were just worrying for nothing, an' that warn't true. But for Mr. Bilbo to then say he'd be givin' 'im up, well he. . .he just got real quiet, an' still again. I don't think he wants to go back."

"Of COURSE he doesn't!" Merry exclaimed, dragging his hands through his hair. "What is Uncle Bilbo thinking? Frodo hates it at Brandy Hall!"

After nearly two weeks of restless worry and then chest-aching grief, Merry had been given more than enough time to think and reflect upon his last conversation with Frodo, and had come to see how right his cousin had been. Though Merry loved living in Brandy Hall, he'd never known what it was like to live anywhere else. Frodo, on the other hand, had grown up in a little hole with his parents. Merry didn't remember them but Frodo had often told him about how they were very kind, loving and well, parents. And when they'd died, Frodo had been pretty much stranded at Brandy Hall. He was still given presents at Yule, and shared in studies and games as everyone else, but Merry wondered where Frodo must have been and who was with him when everyone else, himself included were greeted with hugs in the morning, tucked in at night, or told stories before bed. Probably no one.

Merry hadn't really thought of these things before. Yet now that he did, he realized how much better it was that Bilbo had adopted Frodo, and given him that special love and attention he so deserved. His uncle would never replace his parents. . .but he certainly made an excellent substitute.

Merry couldn't believe that Bilbo truly wanted to sent Frodo back to Brandy Hall. He must be feeling the greatest terror and guilt to be driven to even consider it. But what, Merry wondered, did being jammed into the walls of a crowded hall or being punished for sneaking into the library after bedtime. . .what did THAT do to help Frodo, or protect him from malicious kidnappers?

"Uncle Bilbo's NOT sending Frodo back to Brandy Hall," Merry declared, more to himself than anything. Even when he still missed him so and after all this, it would kill him to leave again. . . "I won't let him. Even if I have to lock Frodo in his room and shove all the damn furniture in Bag End in front of the door to keep him there. Uncle Bilbo's nuts to think that'll help Frodo. He probably just made him feel worse off than he already is!"

Sam nodded, and a faint smile came into his face. "I think you may be right," he said in agreement. "But it'll be up to Mr. Bilbo to talk to Mr. Frodo, an' right now he's afraid to. I don't think he feels as though he be the one to protect poor Mr. Frodo."

Merry snorted. "He's the one with that big sword, isn't he? And he thinks there's someone better to take care of Frodo? Well, then he's crazy. They both are. In a good way. And that's why they're meant to be together."

A thoughtful silence fell between them for some time.

Merry watched as the sun's first rays began to light up patches of land here and there beyond them. Well, it was a new day, certainly filled with greater promise and hope than the one before.

For a while his gaze continued to wander before he came to notice a hobbit standing just at the end of the steps to Bag End, looking up at him with a peculiar look of amusement. He was common looking, with sandy curls, pale blue eyes and a hefty build. He didn't look much older than himself, though the odd smirk on his face made him look so childish that it was hard to tell.

"Who's that?" Merry asked, turning . He frowned when he saw the scowl that was fighting to break into Sam's face as he edged towards him.

"That be Lotho Sackville-Baggins," he mumbled, his voice low and uncharacteristically bitter. "His parents an' Mr. Bilbo aren't very friendly with one another."

"Well, is it true?" the hobbit, who was in fact Lotho Sackville-Baggins, broke in. His voice was abrupt, and laced with sarcasm.

"Is what true?" Merry repeated.

Amazement came into the hobbit's face, and Merry felt his stomach twist furiously at the exaggeration in that expression.

Lotho huffed. "You mean to tell me that you're standing right there, outside the door to Bag End, and you've not the faintest idea of what I speak?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in mock astonishment.

Merry and Sam said nothing.

"Is the orphan back," he demanded, wrapping his thick fists around the fence and scowling freely at them. "Oh, I suppose it is," he added, sadly, at their vicious glares. "Damn. And to think for a few short weeks, that inheritance money was going to its rightful owners after all."

"Unh!" a short, undefinable sound ripped from Merry's throat, and his body jolted awaked at the monstrous FURY that seized him. For a second he just stared, eyes wide, mouth open, in bewilderment before rising on unsteady legs.

"You have to be the most foul, slow-witted hobbit in the Shire to dare say that," he hissed, darkly, his eyes narrowing to slits. "I suppose it never occurred to you that they're still out looking for others who might've been involved, and I'm sure you'd just scream at having rangers carting YOU off by your ears."

Lotho laughed, indifferently. "Naw, it warn't my parents," he said, leaning farther over the fence. "It were Ted's father that did, and to be honest it were a surprise to me too, considering what a coward we all though he was. Naw, he turned out too selfish to tell anyone. But lo! it were a good idea, though! And here I'd considered it a good thing that Sackville-Bagginses weren't cursed with wild imaginations."

"Shut your big fat mouth, Lotho!" Merry sneered, his face twisting into a scowl that just managed to surpass Sam's.

Rage flowed through his veins like venom down to his twitching fingertips, which ached to strangle that big, fat

neck. . . through the loud pounding in his own ears, Merry could hear Sam breathing heavily beside him, read to attack.

Merry jerked his arm up just in time to hold him back. Sam was too small to fight, and there was probably a bit of selfish and self-righteousness in his decision as well in wanting to avenge his cousin, though he'd think about that later.

Lotho stared at him with that same sarcastic bafflement when Merry stretched his arm out to block Sam from charging.

"Naw, what are you doing?" he asked, gesturing with his hands for one of them to come forward. "Let the little toad come at me. I haven't knocked the stuffing out of a hobbit in a while now. Been waiting for that orphan boy in there to pass me by," he added, pulling his sleeves back. His pale-blue eyes flickered, daring Sam to approach him.

"You aren't fighting him, and I wouldn't DARE try and lay hands on my cousin," Merry growled. All traces of any limp, sulking hobbit were vanquished in an instant, fury taking over and driving him down the steps, his white-  
knuckled fists clenched at his sides. "You want to fight, you'd best face someone who's had their share and can easily leave you crying for your Ma."

"Who'er you?" Lotho asked, lips curling as he gave him a once-over.

"Meriadoc Brandybuck, son of Saradoc Brandybuck, Master of Buckland, and Frodo Baggins's cousin," he said, laying emphasis on his last title with an especially dark scowl. He didn't often present himself as proudly as that, but fury was driving him blind and he couldn't hold back on making this a special case.

"Really, so you're one of those crazy hobbits from Buckland," Lotho said, the indifference in his tone masking the slight intimidation held beneath. "I hear you fools actually swim in the Brandywine around there. A bit unnatural, don't you think, when hobbits aren't born to float? You must be crazy!"

"Better to be crazy than a nasty pathetic piece of pig dung like yourself," Merry hissed.

Lotho laughed at this, his pale eyes narrowing in return. "Well, I see you choose to follow the same philosophy as your mad uncle then. You sound just as cracked as he. And oh!" he added, his face darkening into scorn as he changed subjects, "Is it true his heir's come back as broken as a pile o' sticks? What was the matter with him, couldn't he escape on his own so he needed his uncle to rescue him?"

In the far-back recess of his mind where he was still thinking and not going mad with fury, Merry was congratulating himself on having not attacked him. . ..yet. It was one thing to insult him. . . but not his cousin. The split-second image of his poor cousin, struggling to sit up after weeks of helpless terror and abuse came back to him, and he punched his fists against the gate to let him through.

"I wouldn't insult him, if I were you," he snarled. "Had you gone through what he did, you'd be a useless pathetic slab on the road and it wouldn't make much different to anyone else, either."

"I don't doubt it," Lotho said, dryly. "So it's true then, that he's a cripple now and can't stand up on his own? Well, then that's swell," he said, raising his hands in mock excitement. "Now he can join his uncle in there, a useless, mad recluse, now that he's learned his lesson and won't go tramping about the Shire like some little prince – "

A first drove its way into Lotho's pale, beady eye, knocking him back a few clumsy steps .

Such a blow would have, under such a circumstance, most likely satisfied most hobbits of the Shire. Meriadoc Brandybuck, however, happened to be from a rather hot-blooded line in his race, and the first blow did nothing but further ignite the blazing fire in his twitching limbs.

With a snarl of rage, Merry didn't give his far-distant relation to recover before driving into him and knocking them both down onto the ground. Lotho might have been older and larger than himself, but Merry felt as though his utter bones were seething as he threw down fists faster than he'd ever moved in his life.

He got his other eye. . then his nose, then his chest, then his nose again, anything, that was the kidnappers below him, that was Sandyman, that was the worthless heap that had even DARED say such things to him. . .

Merry heard Lotho's cries and grunting as he struggled beneath him, but his vision was blurred and he missed seeing the hand bending back until he felt a fist connect with his eye. Little balls of light suddenly appeared amidst the haze, and he was knocked onto his back by the force of the blow. In an instant the larger hobbit was atop him, landing a ferocious blow onto his chest.

A second passed, and Merry had regained himself. Seizing his enemy's hair, he twisted it furiously to the side and then drove his other fist forward to connect with that big, fat mouth. Satisfied when he heard a distinct crack, he kicked his legs up and knocked the hobbit off of him. They there was no telling who was winning or losing as they grabbed each other by the hair, the ear, the arm, and began rolling around on the ground, punching, kicking, uttering growls of fury.

For Merry, he hardly felt the sensations of pain in his eye, his nose, his shins, in the hot fury and triumph as he caught Lotho on the shoulder, and heard him cry out. He grinned as he caught blood running down his lip.

It took him a second to differentiate the arms he was trying to twist from the ones that were suddenly trying to pull him away, and even then he fought as he was dragged from his opponent, landing a good solid kick to Lotho's side before distance was reached between them.

Merry grinned as he saw through his one eye the blood on Lotho's face, the two black eyes (yes!) and heard the cry of anguish that escaped him. He was doubling over in pain as Bilbo dragged him furiously away.

Merry looked up to see that it was Hamfast Gamgee to be the one that was holding him back.

Once at a safe distance, Bilbo turned around and released Lotho, watching as he fell hard to the ground.

"Get out of here, Lotho!" he growled, clutching his walking cane in his hand and towering over him. "What gave you the idea of coming here now? You're not welcome!"

"Sir," Lotho said, sprawled on the ground, sounding a bit more respectful now that his uncle was standing over him with a weapon of choice in his hand. "I didn't mean nothing, it was just that wild boy that came right at me!"

A shudder of fury went through Bilbo as he stood over him, and for a moment Merry was sure from the livid look in his uncle's face that was going to land a blow.

"Hit him!" he shouted.

"Go back to your sorry excuse for parents," Bilbo growled, furiously. "Get out of here!"

In an instant Lotho scrambled away. Bilbo kicked a spray of dirt at him as he stumbled, and then he was disappeared down the path, filthy and bloody and sporting what would soon be two successful black eyes.

Merry watched his uncle as he stood, panting and white-faced, dragging a shaking hand through his graying curls. The way his face was twisted in a sneer and his eyes so red and bloodshot with fatigue, he'd sure surprised Merry in not attack him.

"What happened?" he demanded, looking both anguished and proud as he approached his nephew.

"That stupid piece of dung came by, and started saying nasty things about Frodo!" Merry protested, angrily.

Bilbo scowled as he looked behind him, and his hand clutched his cane harder, as though resenting not doing worse himself. Well, maybe it wasn't too late, if his uncle wouldn't mind giving him that cane for a second, Merry wouldn't mind running after that hateful Sackville-Baggins in the slightest!

"All right, let's get you inside and clean you up before your father sees," Bilbo said, heavily. Taking him by the shoulder, he tilted Merry's chin up so he could observe his eye.

Merry frowned, astonished that he wasn't being punished for fighting. Though he didn't care if he did, heat and energy were still rushing madly through him and he found himself feeling remarkably drained and happy for the first time in weeks in the knowledge he'd at least done his cousin that justice.

"You mean you're not going to scold me, uncle?" Merry asked.

Bilbo looked down at him, and a little bit of the hardness in his face lifted as he laughed. "No, by the looks of it you've been thrashed enough for today," he said, firmly gripping his shoulders. "In fact, you should feel proud of yourself, my lad, for doing the joy that I should've. That lot are malicious, even if not responsible for this."

TBC

Whew! That was exhilarating to write! Hope this was a good ice breaker, I just couldn't leave off after the other chapter, especially since this part comes right after.

Next chapter title should define everything. I'm too tired to be articulate and sneaky with my title (don't grin at me, Obelia!) Am still deciding upon whether or not to call it 'Comforting Tales' or just plain 'Comfort,' but I hope you all can get the general idea of what it will involve.

Some things will be said. . . .well, actually, a LOT will be said and I can hear you all breathing the same chant along with me: "Elbereth . .. .Finally!"


	29. Comforting Tales

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

E-Mail: 

Disclaimer: Characters and location are the property of one J.R.R. Tolkien

Rating: PG-13 for violence, mild swearing and wee hobbit suffering.

A/N: Greetings all! Here be another really unavoidably loooong chapter! Arg, even after I cut bits and spliced it in half it's still officially the longest chapter of this story. Reading along you'll understand why. Hope you all enjoy BellaMonte's attempt to begin un-traumatizing the characters that have been traumatized over the course of nearly 30 chapters now. Frodo being the most victimized by BellaMonte's sick, twisted story, therefore comes first.

A few things regarding the last chapter. Budgielover was good enough to point out something that I forgot to mention about the ages of the hobbits. Early on, I think it was chapter 1 or 2 I mentioned that I'd thwarted with the ages of the hobbits and forgot to mention it again now that they've come back into the picture. So to clarify, Merry is only four or five years younger than Frodo, the line goes Frodo 22, Merry 17, and Sam is a bit younger, 14 or so.

Just for a warning, I go back to college in about two weeks. My original goal to was to get this story completely finished by the time I went back, but I've added upcoming chapters and was lazy at points, so there's still a ways to go. I promise though that I do not intend to go on hiatus, updates will simply be spaced more apart, and I'm hoping to get as much written as possible in the next two weeks.

So please help fuel the flame of motivation, and let me know how you're liking the latest bit! :)

Tiggivon: Danke Tiggivon for the wonderful reviews, as always! I really appreciate that you take the time to review all three chapters. Arg, not one of those migraines! (hugs) Take some of that 'willow bark' medicine, or some aspirin. teehee! Glad you liked Merry's less than pacific reaction to Lotho, I just had to have one of those Sackville-Bagginses slammed in this story. But (sigh) though I thank you for being so understanding through this miserable, 'gritty' journey, you deserve a break so I'm going to stop here and let you read on. :) Enjoy!

ClaudiaofBree: Claudia, darling, you keep at 'The Shire Slave' and I'll put your heart all back together with this story! :)

ShadowGraffiti: Thanks for the review, ShadowGraffiti! Hope you enjoy the next bit.

Ancalime: Hey Ancalime! Naw, you've reviewed before, don't worry about it. Thanks for the review, and letting me know you're still with me! :)

Idril Telrunya: Hey Idril! Arg, I know was mucking up with overload messages all last week. So you're one for not being able to contain excitement either? Hehee, we be the same then! Merry's whole excitement/hysterical bit came directly from me and what I usually do when I see a new LoTR spoiler picture. Am glad you liked seeing Lotho with two black eyes, I just had to beat up one of those S.B.'s.

Shlee Verde: My good buddy! Yes (nods head) as you will continue to see, many of the adults in this story are quite out of it, Bilbo especially. I don't know why I've made him out to be such an oblivious hobbit, but esp. in this chapter we'll see an adult hobbit that IS with it, and thank god for that. Ooh, and coffee be not a good idea at 11 p.m.? LOL! That's usually when I drink my last cup! (course I don't get up till eleven the next morning). But no, that's good! Loopy Shlee is awesome to hear from, all for caffeine consumption!

Arwen Baggins: Hey Arwen! "Couldn't Merry see that Frodo was crying because his shoulder was hurt?": Eek, no, Merry was too lost in his euphoria of seeing his cousin. I use way too much dramatic irony in this story I know, but don't worry Frodo/Merry reconciliation coming soon I promise.

Budgielover: Thanks for the two reviews, Budgie! And yes, you're right about Merry being a lot smaller than Lotho, even with the age similarities that I changed I guess I should've paid more mind to Lotho being a great big bully. And Merry and Lotho never meeting before? Eh.. . .most likely they have met before when they were younger, I figured though that being distant enough relations and the S.B.'s being such unpleasant relatives that they hadn't seen each other in a long time. Well anyway, glad you liked the rest! I'm holding my breath on your reaction to this chapter, you've been so patient with me. Hoping I don't let you down. :)

Myfanwy: Darling! Your opinion of the combo of angst/meaning was so sweet, and thankfully (hopefully, if I do it right) that's what this story will try to convey, that strength and happiness, etc., can come in spite of, or even as the result of suffering. And yeah, this is going to take a while for all these misunderstandings to be unraveled, though I'm hoping this chapter will clear up a fair bit of it. I know, that bit about Merry and Frodo's perspectives was a little difficult to write, hence we get only snatches of Frodo perspective. But since last chapter (ack two chapters back I mean) was focused more on Merry's reaction to seeing Frodo again, I kept it mainly on his side. But do not fear, this chapter is almost completely Frodo perspective. "We can see that he's pretty much shutting Merry out, but has Bilbo been to see him anymore at all?": Not really, but keep in mind that Frodo was saved in the middle of the night, and then Bilbo brought him back and went to find out it was Sandyman later in the night, and he arrives back at Bag End even later, and when Merry arrives it's just the morning of the same night. I've deliberate tried to squeeze a lot into a short period of time so that 1. Bilbo doesn't have much of an opportunity to talk to Frodo since he's sleeping and 2. Frodo doesn't have any more time to scream at his uncle, both so that this chapter could occur and he won't feel the need to. Cryptic a little? Perhaps, I'm gonna stop pausing you now from reading the actual chapter. Enjoy! Ohh, and worry not, even after this chapter there's plenty more to read (more than 10 chapters!) So fear not about the story ending.

Endymion: Hey Endymion! "Can you imagine I had really forgotten about what happened between Merry and Frodo?": LoL, I know it's been a while since it happened but it unfortunately still weighs heavy on their minds, (sigh) another relationship to patch up. I know, no healing really in either chapter. But now that all characters have reunited and thereby been traumatized further by it, let's now get to the healing part shall we?

WildFire: Hey Wildfire! "Without Lotr stories I think I'd go through withdraw": You and me both, wildfire, I often find myself more glued to my fav. fanfiction stories than I am about the actual movie! And you've posted your story? Awesome! I'll go read it sometime, I promise, I'm just trying to scrap as much of this story together and posted before I go back to college. :)

Chloe Amethyst: Hey Chloe! Glad you like the Merry/Lotho confrontation, I was thinking about the same 'magnificent' title Merry would get later when I planned this chapter. After so much sht Merry's been through, even though he's thus far served a rather small role, I just had to give him an opportunity to redeem himself and let out some of that Brandybuck temper. I love what you said about Sam, I know, the poor dear's got so much wisdom in him even though he's oblivious to it himself. The Gamgees as a family seem to be the root of hobbit sense, and another Gamgee will also serve a role as a communicator as you'll see in this chapter. :)

Chaos: Guten Tag, mein Freund! (hope that's written right!) Glad you're back, Chaos! And no, thankfully I've got two solid weeks before school resumes and my hands aching in the effort to scribble as much of this down before I go back. A year off from school as a holiday? Now that would be living! (hugs!)

Camellia Gamgee-Took: Greetings, Camellia! Glad you liked the Lotho ss kicking session, I just had to slam one of the S.B.'s in the course of this story. hehee! "I'm feeling pretty concerned for Frodo now - this recovery isn't going to be easy and I have a feeling that Merry may suffer from it": (ducks head) Well, I'm hoping that this chapter, though long, will be a good jump start to Frodo's recovery, but you're right, as the story roles along it's going to be more Merry, but especially Bilbo who suffers the most long term from this, he'll have guilt and Frodo National Guard to struggle through even after Frodo comes to grips with everything, and is enlightened on a few tad misunderstandings.

Anna T. Bell: Hey Anna! (weren't you Lorelle just a second ago? Teehee!) "Even though I'm happy it's all over (almost)": (skids to major halt) Woah, not so fast, Anna, if this is at all reassuring I promise there's quite a bit more to cover, so don't feel the need to part with this storyline just yet. And yes, I've decided to use 'Comforting Tales' I think it sounds better and does articulate the meaning of the chapter much better. (Articulate! There, I just used a vocab word too!) There's a solution to words such as 'continuingness' Anna, just create your own dictionary of words! Re-invent the english language! I'll buy a book!

Curious Cat: Thank you for the lovely review, CuriousCat! I'm glad you're liking how the story's progressed. Though you're right, Frodo does indeed deserve a bit of a break, and hopefully this chapter marks the first day where he'll take a vacation from 'Traumatized Tweenagerville.' Oooh, and also you said that "We have a villain to catch!" we do? Do you mean Lotho, or did I miss catching one of the villians? :)

Merrry: Greetings, Merrry! I'm glad you're liking the story. About the swearing, I'm sorry if you don't like it, but it kind of fits in with the mood of the story. I know it's a cheesy way to create mood, but especially with the kidnappers I intended to make them rough and bad-mouthed, and Bilbo occasionally goes off, and technically I'm in the PG-13 range of words. Sorry if it's offending, but it was deliberate for plot's sake. But don't worry, less anger/swearing in the future. :)

A Elbereth: Hey A Elbereth! (hugs) Fear not, college doesn't start for another two weeks for me. I go to a college in Washington that runs on a quarter system, so they start later, end later. Eek, I'm sorry you had to go back, though you'll be done and sleeping while I'm still writing up final essays next June. "Whatever path Frodo is going to take (grief, healing, etc.)": How about. . ..enlightenment? Hehee, will that be a good course? Okay am gonna stop spoiling and let you read ahead. Enjoy!

Loveofthehobbits: Hey loveofthehobbits (love the name, btw :) Am glad you're liking the story! "Poor Fro we gotta make that kid realize his Uncle does care, huh?": Damn straight! :)

Bookworm2000: Greetings, Bookworm! Glad you liked the Lotho-getting-beat-up part! You've always wanted to see that, eh? Yay, me too! Glad I could comply.

Thank you all for reviewing! Know you're the fuel that keeps me going on this story, if not for all your kind words I never would've gotten this far.

Chapter 28: Comforting Tales

Frodo lay in bed, his eyes intent on the wooden ceiling above him. After so long waking to the gray, slanted ceiling above him, he could now close his eyes and open them as many times as he wanted, and his own ceiling would still be there. His bed too. Right now, the sheets were warm and tucked tightly about him. He closed his eyes and sighed.

Not that it would last. Deep in his chest a faint, rumbling ache reminded him that this comfort was only temporary.

Soon he would wake and the ceiling of his old room at Brandy Hall would be looming over him again, and he would hear his aunt Pimpernel scolding him for staying in bed all day, even with his weakness and use of only one arm.

He knew he shouldn't be disappointed, let alone surprised. The fact that he had been saved at all was miraculous, wasn't it, and Brandy Hall could never compare to the nightmare Bree had been, nor could his relatives ever surpass his kidnapper's cruelty. What was there to complain about?

That was what he'd been trying to tell himself. It was over. Now there was nothing to do but put it behind him and accept that he was going back to Brandy Hall, back to his aunts, uncles and cousins. Curling up onto his side, he closed his eyes and prepared to go back to sleep.

A sharp crack at the window caught his attention.

Frodo turned. Terror latched onto him so fast that all memory of being rescued or saved were dashed as though they had never happened. Strasser's face glared at him in through the window. His hair was as dark and wild as ever, blowing wildly about his sweaty face. His black eyes were gleaming in amusement as he looked in through the little window.

Frodo sprang up from his pillow, his hurts forgotten in the attempt to scramble out of his bed. The thick layers of sheets and blankets were tightly wrapped around him, acting as a cocoon and trapping him within their folds.

_No! No! It's not true, he was captured! _Frodo tried to reason, even as he heard the shatter of glass and a familiar growl reached his ears.

An instant later, Strasser was towering over him, grabbing at his curls and grinning in his face. He might have been screaming, but he couldn't hear himself.

"You didn't think this were over, did ye?" the ruffian seethed, twisting his fist in Frodo's hair.

"Frodo!" he could hear Mrs. Gamgee calling him, but she was far away, perhaps behind the door. His world suddenly went topsy-turvy as he was lifted and shaken violently.

"Frodo, wake up!" he heard her again, and he tried to respond that he was awake! The hideous man's face was right in front of him, shaking him like a limp puppet.

"Just open your eyes, child," a vaguely familiar voice insisted.

Suddenly all went dark, except for the faint glow of a few oil lamps at the other end of the room. Now there were three dark outlines in front of him, and he instinctively tried to jerk away. The abrupt movement jarred his sides, and he gasped as a muscle cramped in his neck.

"It's all right, my boy, it's just a dream," one of the dark shapes spoke. Their voice was husky, reassuring. . . Bilbo.

Blinking rapidly in an attempt to rid the sleep from his eyes, Frodo saw that his uncle was in fact there, standing behind Mrs. Gamgee. As the words sunk in, he looked about and saw that he was still in his bed. It was Mrs. Gamgee, Bilbo and the doctor surrounding him, not Strasser. . .

_But wait!_ Frodo shot up again, his back still sore and aching.

"No, look!" he cried, pointing. "He's there, he was just outside! Look!"

His frustration mounted when none of them even bothered to turn their heads. "He was just there, see?" he protested, his frightened blue eyes darting to the window. Well, it wasn't broken anymore, but what if he was still there? They'd never told him what happened to his kidnappers. . . they could be outside!

"Shh, dear, it was just a dream," Mrs. Gamgee said, her features tight with worry as she gently tried to push him back against the pillows.

"But," he stammered, breaking off as a short coughing fit took him. The doctor was beside him, holding his chest as he coughed into a handkerchief. "It - it was so real!"

But looking over again, he saw that the window was latched and unbroken. His heart continued to pound violently even as it sunk in that he had just been dreaming.

"Frodo, it's all right," he heard uncle said again, and Frodo inwardly cringed as he felt a hand on his shoulder. "You're home."

Frodo recoiled at his touch. He knew Bilbo must've seen it as well, for the hand instantly pulled away. Now that reality had set back in, his frustration mounted upon the fresh anger. It took effort for Frodo to bite back from saying, 'Not for much longer.'

"Frodo, what?" Bilbo asked, holding his hand to his chest as though it had been burned.

"Oh, just stop," Frodo cried, his throat constricting bitter tears. Why wouldn't his uncle just stop pretending with that fake, familiar voice of concern when he was kicking him out soon enough? Why did he even bother?

"Frodo, I want to help," his uncle pleaded, pushing past Mrs. Gamgee and sitting right in front of him.

"Stop it! Stop lying!" he shouted.

Jerking away before he saw what perceived to be false distress on his uncle's face, he turned and curled onto his side. "Just go away."

It took several moments for Mrs. Gamgee and the doctor to calm the tweenager from his outburst before settling him down to rest. The doctor had been relieved when Frodo had slept undisturbed most of the day. His fever had further dissipated, though he was not completely out of danger. It had been just before supper that he had started to toss and turn, eventually lapsing into the nightmare that drew the three worried hobbits to his side.

Once satisfied that he was resting quietly, Mrs. Gamgee left the room and found Bilbo in one of the small rooms at the end of the hole. The old hobbit, who had barely slept a wink in the last two days and refused to rest even as everyone else did sat hunched over in a chair, his face buried in his hands.

"Is he all right?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, wary of the deep anxiety that lined his face when he looked up. "It was just a nightmare. The doctor said that it should be expected. . . with everythin'. . ."

Bilbo nodded, quickly. Mrs. Gamgee could he was still visibly shaken from his nephew's recoil. They all had been. What had prompted it, she didn't know, but there was no doubt in her mind that there was more to Frodo's silence than Bilbo was willing to face.

No doubt she, the simple wife of a gardener, wasn't the one to be telling the old hobbit what to do. But no one else seemed willing or even aware of what was going on to do it. Though it didn't take a keen minded hobbit to observe that there was some terrible rift between the two hobbits. It was clear that Bilbo was trying desperately to help his poor nephew, though he fled the room the second Frodo had inexplicably demanded for him to leave, exposing some latent anger that had yet to be understood.

"Sir, you must speak with 'im."

The anguish that erupted into the hobbit's face was unsettling, and Mrs. Gamgee felt abashed for being so abrupt with him.

"He doesn't want to talk to me, Bell. You hear him," he said, hoarsely. Never before had his voice sounded so weak, his frame so feeble. Mrs. Gamgee knew her master to be very old, yet she had never seen him show signs of it until this moment as he leaned against the arm of his chair for support, the weight of guilt crushing him. "He has every right to be angry with me. I. . .I can't blame him for not wanting to talk to me."

"Maybe so," Mrs. Gamgee replied, "But that isn't an excuse to leave 'im be. Why, when Halfred were young an' he'd have an angry fit, or he was bothered about somethin', the best thing I could do would be to talk 'im out of it, whatever it was he was fussin' over. Leavin' 'im be is just goin' to make 'im think you don't care enough to talk to 'im!"

"You heard him," Bilbo whispered. "He shouted for me to leave."

"What young ones say an' mean are two different things, sir."

But her master didn't seem to be listening anymore. The anger in his nephew's eyes and the bitter pain in his voice continued to rip at the older hobbit's insides. He pitched his head forward with his elbows on his knees again. Frodo's vehement "Go away!" still rang in his ears.

Never before did Mrs. Gamgee feel such an urge to scream at him that the time for his intellectual brooding was over, and if he was truly the brave, proud hobbit she'd always secretly admired him to be, then he should get up right now and go back in the room and talk to Frodo.

By the Shire, why were Baggins's so stubborn?

"It's no use, Bell," Bilbo whispered. Defeat was palpable in his eyes as he gazed into the fire. "He hates me for what happened. . .for letting this happen. How can I tell him different?"

"But sir," she persisted, pity tugging at her insides again. "You're mistaken. Frodo doesn't hate you! That's your own guilt talkin' to you, I think. Not Frodo. Why, he certainly weren't mad at you when you first brought 'im back, don't you remember?" she asked. "You should've heard how he cried when you left." Bilbo flinched visibly at this, though she could see a small smile tug at his lips at the thought. "That's right, sir, he was devastated when you left," she said, nodding. "But not angry. Which is what I don't right understand. Perhaps you know better than I, what happened? What did you tell him?"

Bilbo lifted his shoulders, and uttered a noise of equal bafflement.

"I just," he began. "I came back and he wouldn't talk to me. I did leave him so fast. . .but then even when I told him what happened, and why I had to leave, he wouldn't speak. And then. . ." A short pause followed. Mrs. Gamgee watched as the older hobbit's face grew lost in some vague consideration.

"What?" she asked, frowning suspiciously.

"I. . ..well, I told him about what was happening, and that he wasn't safe here," he continued, "And I told him that the best thing for him would be to send him back to Brandy Hall for a while."

An abrupt silence descended on the room, heralding Mrs. Gamgee's outburst: "You WHAT?"

"Yes," Bilbo persisted, earnestly. "You heard those rumors. . . that someone else might try and take him again, knowing that I'd pay. . .and for all we know there might have been another hobbit that Sandyman didn't mention. . ." Bilbo trailed off as he finally looked up and noticed the horror-stricken expression on Mrs. Gamgee's face. "What?"

"Sir," she stammered. Disbelief seized hold of her a little too quickly, stiffening her back to the point that she didn't think that she could move from her chair. Perhaps that was for the best. "Sir, you. . .you didn't."

_Say you didn't. Say you're not the most foolish hobbit in all Four Farthings of the Shire. _

"I did, but what?" he asked, frowning. "What? Was that bad?"

"I. . .I don't think that was the news to greet 'im with, sir," she stammered. "In fact. . .well, bless me I can't even think of another that were the worst!" The sharp confusion that dug into the old hobbit's brow was maddening, and a sharp laugh escaped her. "Why, no wonder he hates you!"

"What do you mean?" he asked, anxiously, clutching the arms of the chair.

"Sir, my goodness!" she cried. "Why, you tell me! What, with all the horror stories Sam's entertained me with of what Frodo told him it were like livin' in Brandy Hall?" Worry came into the older hobbit's face, but nothing near astonishment. "What, with the one aunt that would trip 'im when he walked near, claimin' he was runnin' too fast? Or those cousins that teased 'im for bein' afraid to go near the Brandywine?" She could've gone on with all the stories Sam had confessed to her, if not for the horror mixed with oblivion on her master's face. "Why, did you not know how he were teased and neglected there?"

"No," Bilbo confessed, hoarsely. _Oh Frodo, you never told me. . .your aunt? Your cousins?_

Groaning faintly, Bilbo sank back into the chair, shaking his head in bewilderment. "He never told me those things! And he told Sam? Why, I never. . .I mean I knew he was lonely there," he admitted, "But I never thought it was that serious. . .he always seemed happy when I was there. . ." Understanding suddenly dawned on him of the significance of that, and he groaned again.

"But. . .even if that were the case," he said, catching Mrs. Gamgee's look of triumph, "Is that really the issue so much as keeping him safe?"

"On the contrary, sir, I think his well being is the first thing to consider. And besides," she added, with a curt smile, "After that great show the rangers pulled, stampedin' through the Shire and all, scarin' everyone nearly to death, an' you with that sword, well. . .I don't think anyone would be that foolish to dare try'n go near the lad again."

"Let's hope not," Bilbo said, clenching his hands together. A knuckle cracked.

"Sir, I know you want to keep Frodo safe," she said, knowingly. "But I know you want 'im to be well again, and you want to make everything up to him. But consider what he's been through. . .and how lost and frightened he still is. And now you, his favorite uncle whom he loves so dearly, saves him from a terrible nightmare only to tell him that you think it's better for 'im to be thrown back into that miserable, lonely Brandy Hall you'd only recently rescued 'im from!"

At first instant Bilbo frowned and opened his mouth in a protest. But then realization slowly dawned on him of the stupidity he'd just committed, and he stiffened like a board. If he separated his own good intentions from what his poor boy must have thought. . .and. . .

The word _oops!_ suddenly came to mind.

"Oh Elbereth," Bilbo groaned, deflating into the chair. "Idiot!"

"Yes, just about sir."

Suddenly, all the built-up tension, worry and confusion that thickened the air in the room broke, and they both erupted into short, broken notes of laughter.

"Sir, you really need some practice in parenting, you do."

"I think you're right," Bilbo said, his chest still rumbling with silent laughter. "And you thought I was bad before."

"Yes, I think you've reached an all consuming low now. But it's not too late," she added, and there was hope in her voice.

Bilbo nodded, and when he raised his head again she could see, despite the worry and fatigue, a clear relief shining in his face. Perhaps not all was at peace. No, that would certainly take a long while yet. . .but to have the small hope of knowing how to begin to gain forgiveness, or at least understanding from his nephew, Mrs. Gamgee could see that was a light in the dark place he'd been living in.

The calm silence was interrupted after a few minutes as Saradoc Brandybuck entered.

"Bilbo, may we speak a moment?" he asked, the worry lines in his face indication that he'd finally seen Merry. The older hobbit, who had wisely kept Merry at the Gamgees for most of the day, knew there was no avoiding explanation of the black and eye and bruises on his face, and he got up.

Before he left, he exchanged a small smile with Mrs. Gamgee. She knew he was intending to go back on what he'd previously planned, if in fact he'd even informed Master Brandybuck of his plans to relinquish his guardianship of Frodo.

As he left, Mrs. Gamgee felt a slight stir of indignation that Bilbo should go and talk to Frodo now. He was obviously still scared to approach his nephew, but every second not talking to him was surely making the pain worse for the lad.

For a moment Mrs. Gamgee considered whether or not it might be an idea to go in and explain a bit of this to Frodo herself. Just a little, enough to ease his fears before Bilbo did. But she hesitated. He was Bilbo's nephew, after all, but who knew when Bilbo would actually build up the courage to actually talk to him. . .days, most likely.

Honestly, to imagine such a proud, old hobbit such as her master was afraid to talk to Frodo. No wonder the boy was so confused!

Drawing near the door, Mrs. Gamgee quietly peeked in and found the little hobbit laying in bed, his back to the door.

The dream had left him shaken, and he had decided not to go back to sleep. He figured that he might as well take in what little time he had left in this room he had loved so much before his uncle Saradoc took him away. His uncle Saradoc was here already, so it wouldn't be much longer. . .

"Frodo," he heard a voice behind him, so soft and faint it almost didn't sound real.

Frodo felt the weight of someone sitting beside him on the bed, and a hand came up to rest on his head, gently stroking the soft curls out of his face.

"Frodo dear, are you still awake?"

He nodded. A little bit of the tenseness in his frame relaxed to know it was just Mrs. Gamgee. In his months living in Bag End, he still hadn't met many hobbits except for the close neighbors, and the Gamgees had been the only ones who had really seemed delighted by his arrival. Sam and he had immediately struck up a friendship, and Mrs. Gamgee had always been very kind to him. Though she had always surprised him when she would playful poke fun at his uncle's oddities.

"Are you all right?" she asked, peering down at him.

"Yes. . . my hand hurts." He didn't want to admit that everything still hurt, so he fixed on a single position.

"I'm sorry," she said, the deep concern evident in her voice. He felt a little more relaxed at the comforting sensation of her hand combing through his curls. "The doctor's said it will hurt for a few more days, but it will get better, don't you worry. You're already improvin' faster than the doctor expected, with the fever near gone. How's the cough?"

"It's better," he mumbled, rubbing his throat.

"Good. Now, let's see if you can sit up," she said. Gently turning him around, they both worked to prop him up against the pillows without disturbing his healing bruises. She sat down, facing him directly.

Mrs. Gamgee went right into it. "Frodo, we need to talk."

"I don't want to."

"No, it's not bad," she said, quickly, seeing the dread come into his face. "Relax," she added with a smile.

"Not bad?" he considered, vaguely.

"It's not. I promise. But first, can I get you something? Some water, or tea perhaps?"

Frodo nodded. Since being back, water had been a delight to drink but there was something about the warm, tangy taste of tea in his mouth that helped remind him he was really home. Little sensations like that, the softness of his nightshirt, or the scratchy feel of his outer quilt were all helping to bring his mind back to the reality that he wouldn't wake sprawled on the dewy cot in that cold attic.

"Tea, please."

"Good, I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere," she teased, not leaving until she'd worked a smile out of him, which came out wider than expected when he realized what she was doing.

A few minutes later she came back with a mug of the steamy liquid. Resuming her spot next to him, she held the mug to his lips, helping him to drink since his one arm was terribly stiff and he wasn't supposed to lift anything with the other.

Frodo drank the tea, gratefully. At each sip, he felt his lids grow heavier as sleep weighed down upon him.

"I'm so tired," he admitted softly.

"You've been through so much, you should sleep," Mrs. Gamgee replied, setting the mug down. "It's the best thing for you, really. But what woke you earlier? Was it a bad nightmare?"

Frodo nodded.

"Could you tell me what it was about?"

Frodo shook his head.

It was heartbreaking to watch the dark, curly-haired head respond with nothing more than a nod or a head shake. There was obviously much more going on in there. His eyes betrayed the blank expression in his face, revealing a storm of emotion within their great blue depths.

"Frodo," she began, launching right into it, "I know how shaken an' confused you must be right now. Bein' in a bad place, with bad, bad people. . ." to emphasize this point, she rested her hand upon his bandaged one. "Believe me when I say that we all know how hard this must be for you. But. . .you're still troubled over somethin', I can see it. An' whatever this is, it isn't letting you come back to us." Raw emotion was leaking into his face, and she peered in closer. "Was that bad that you can't. . .can't let it go? Can't get it out of your mind?"

Frodo shrunk into himself under her concerned gaze, and his lips parted in motion to speak. Yet some much came to his mind all at once, it was like to come out in a tumult of random events, thoughts, emotions, and soon he was suddenly arguing with himself over which time would be best to begin: _When my parent's died, when Bilbo adopted me, when I was kidnapped?_ Perhaps it was the tea, exhaustion or just craziness that was making his mind spin with the rush of so much at once, he couldn't even say anything.

_What did she ask again?_

Looking up, he saw that Mrs. Gamgee was still observing him carefully, and he dropped his head again. Right. She wanted to know why he wasn't jumping for joy at being home, not that he was physically capable anyway.

Groaning inwardly, Frodo tried desperately to find to the words to explain that he didn't _want_ to explain anything. depressed enough even _without_ knowing.

It was so strange. In those long days when he'd been tied up in the chair, loneliness and despair eating away at him, that had been the time when he had wanted nothing more than to scream till his voice was hoarse all that was inside of him. But that had been in the beginning. Somewhere along the way, starting when he was dragged through the muddy streets of Bree till waking to find himself saved, all those cries seem to have muddled and become too many, too much, and now all he wanted to do was burrow under the covers and forget it all, if that was possible. To just not think for a while, and not have to explain the fear and horror that he couldn't understand himself. . .

Well, that was what he wanted. Unfortunately, Mrs. Gamgee was still watching him with concerned, prying eyes, and he knew that she wouldn't stop until he answered.

"It was. . .horrible," he settled on saying.

Biggest understatement of his life, but articulate nonetheless.

"We know, dear," she said. Frodo was mildly surprised at how sincere she sounded, as though she could see much of what he was thinking without even saying it. "But. . .is that all you have to say?"

"What else is there to say?" he said, with a small shrug.

An amused huff drew his eyes up again, and he frowned at the grin that had come into her face.

"Oh don't tell me 'that's all' Frodo," she said, with a knowing look. "The way you go off tellin' stories down to the last detail, an' write page after page of adventure stories. . .well, I'm sorry, but I'm not buyin' it."

A sharp laugh escaped him, surprising them both. True, he considered, if she wanted him to go off he still could, though it wouldn't be a pleasant story. _Oh, right. She already knows that_ he remembered. But again, the onslaught of too many memories at once rendered him speechless.

Frodo waited for Mrs. Gamgee to speak again, but she didn't. Instead, he watched in the corner of his vision as her thin, nimble hand came up, and rubbed his arm, reassuringly. A hard lump started to build in his throat. The simple gesture might not have meant much. But after so long of cowering from large fists, recoiling from angry blows, the small caress started to break down the fibers of tension and bitterness that he'd guarded himself with for days. Her hand continued to rub his arm slowly, and Frodo felt tears burning just behind his lashes. He closed his eyes quickly, a single tear managing to escape and slipping down his cheek.

"See?" she said softly, as though proving a point. "There's the Frodo lad we remember."

"What!" he spluttered, his face reddening instantly in shock and humility. "_That's_ what you remember me as, a pathetic whiner?"

Mrs. Gamgee laughed, evidently amused at his outburst, leaving him baffled and scarlet in the face.

"Dear Frodo, I didn't mean it like that," she said, her eyes meeting his. "I meant I still see a brave young hobbit, who's been through so much, an' yet still has enough strength an' heart in 'im to be able to cry."

"That doesn't sound right," he retorted. "Crying isn't a strong thing to do."

"Oh yes? Says who?"

For a moment, Frodo reflected upon the long line of hobbits he could remember who called him a crybaby, or jeered him for sulking.

"My Aunt Pimpernel," he responded, dully. She was one.

Mrs. Gamgee sniffed in suppression of another laugh. "Well, this aunt Pimpernel of yours obviously doesn't understand little ones," she replied, and as she spoke her voice grew soft and wistful, "You've been through so much, dear. So much that it most likely feels right to jus' not feel at all. An' yet you still continue on, not having lost your heart along the way. . why, that's what strength is, dear. Strength greater than you know, or are willing to admit. For even when you try an' deny it bein' there, it still manages to break through."

Frodo didn't realize that he'd been shaking until Mrs. Gamgee paused to notice it too. Removing one of the quilts from the end of his bed, she spread it out and wrapped it snugly around him. Her words continued to echo with a surprising clarity in the following silence, and Frodo struggled to take in their meaning while trying to recall where he'd heard something like that before. . .it had been a long time. . .

"And besides," Mrs. Gamgee added, once he was wrapped up tightly within the folds, "After all you've been through, you've more right than anyone to cry. There's nothing shameful in it," she said, dabbing at his wet and scarlet cheeks. "You're still shaken. You've barely been back a day, it's just now late evenin'. An' before any more time passes, Frodo, know that you're safe. Take those words to heart. . .if not for yourself, than for your dear friend Samwise and his silly mother." Frodo would have laughed again, but her voice had momentarily lost its humor and sounded hard, and commanding. "Whatever terrible things happened there, remember this. They're over. Forever. Those bad men are gone, you're never goin' to see them again. An' you're home now."

Frodo would have been lying to not admit that Mrs. Gamgee's words were succeeding in breaking away the last of the tension and fear that still lived within him. To hear all that was happening, but never spoken so sincerely, that he was safe. . .they were gone. . .truths so blessed that even after a day of lying here it had still not fully sunk in, and he felt himself sagging in relief.

Unintentionally, however, Mrs. Gamgee left off at a point which conjured up the bitter reminder that this comfort would soon come to an end. No sooner had she finished in saying, "You're home now," that the little hobbit responded with a bitter, "Yes, well not for much longer."

"Dear, what does that mean?" she asked, frowning.

"You know," he said, pain weakening his voice. He was too listless now to resume his stubborn silence, and if he kept talking he knew he would break down completely.

"No, I don't, why?" she persisted, placing her palms down on either side of him and staring fixedly into his face.

"Because. . . .because just as soon as I can walk again, I'm going back to Brandy Hall!"

Her frame stiffened, and for a moment Frodo felt relief that she understood.

"He. . .those weren't his exact words, were they?"

"No," he admitted, almost laughing at her bewildered expression. "But that's what he meant."

"Oh. . .oh,.good," she breathed, bringing a hand up to her throat. "Goodness, I'd wring 'im for that. But Frodo," she said, turning her attention back to the tweenager before her, "Those are not settled plans, don't worry about it!" Noticing a few of the top buttons of his nightshirt were undone, she hurriedly buttoned them together. "You're uncle's jus' very confused, an' scared for you right now."

Finishing with the last button, Mrs. Gamgee looked up and frowned to see that the lad's lip was trembling, his eyes glazed with fresh tears. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he whispered, dropping his head.

"No Frodo, what," she insisted. When he didn't answer, she scooted herself closer to him, cupping his face with her hands, forcing him to look at her.

At meeting her kind, questioning eyes, Frodo felt the truth stirring dangerously near the surface of his silence. "What does that look mean?" she asked. "You're hiding something. . .please tell me."

He choked, beginning to lose the battle. By the Shire, didn't she know? Well, obviously not by the way she was looking at him in oblivion. But no, he didn't want to say it! Saying it made it all the more real, all the more devastating. . .

There was nothing he could do. Her face loomed in front of his, ready to press him again. Frodo snapped his eyes shut. "You don't know," he whispered, his shoulders shaking. "Uncle Bilbo's not scared for me. He just doesn't want me here!"

"Oh, Frodo that's not true," she said. The nonchalance in her voice was infuriating.

"It is," he cried, jerking away. Pain seized him in the abruptness of the motion, but he ignored it. "He doesn't want me here," he choked. "He doesn't. . he wouldn't even pay those men to get me back! H-he," he was practically heaving now "H-he didn't even want me to be saved!"

Sobs wrenched out of him before he could really finish. The truth seized him with fresh agony, now being openly declared and exposed, and his body shook with the weight of his choking cries. He buried his face in his bandaged hand.

Through his blurry vision, he managed to catch a glimpse of Mrs. Gamgee, her face twisted in an indescribable look of horror. Then everything before him dissolved into another pool of tears, and Frodo gasped when he felt himself suddenly engulfed in a hug.

"Oh Frodo," she choked, the strength at which she was clutching him reminiscent of Merry that morning, and Frodo bit back a cry of pain as fire seemed to tear up his side.

By the Shire. ..of all things she had feared he was withholding, of all things she feared he had suffered. . .THIS. . .this was unbelievable to the point of ridiculous!

"Frodo, no," she whispered, finally finding her voice. Her hand came up again to stroke his curls, but this comforting gesture all but made him cry harder and louder. With a sickening lurch, she realized as she listened to the violence of his sobs just how much grief he had, and still was suffering.

Yet it was ridiculous! For him to think. . . .oh, how was that possible, how could he think that?

Even as she held the boy to her, Mrs. Gamgee was carried back to that day when Bilbo had confessed to her how he had been ignoring the lad, and she herself had observed the tension between them. Yet for the lad to think that his uncle didn't want him. . .well, he had not been here and observed as she did how his uncle had fallen apart these last weeks.

Oh, if he only knew. . .

"Frodo," she said, pulling him gently back from her shoulder. "You don't really think that, do you?" She peered anxiously into his red, splotchy face, searching for some trace of doubt that he did not really believe what he was saying. But to her horror, she found none, only a tired bitterness that conveyed a struggle long endured, and long since defeated.

He sniffed, wiping his nose. "How can I not? It's the truth. . .h-he's been annoyed with me ever since I came here, he got so mad when I broke his dish – "

"Stop," Mrs. Gamgee interrupted, putting a finger firmly over his lips. "Don't speak such nonsense."

Anger flooded Frodo, prompting him to shout in defiance, but the stern, hard look in Mrs. Gamgee's face stunted him. A long moment passed as they stared at each other before Mrs. Gamgee finally spoke, her tone softened a little.

"NO, Frodo," she said, shaking her head. "That's not true."

"Mmm. . .yes," he finally managed to say through her finger pressed tightly over his lips.

"No," she repeated. Removing her finger to hold him instead by his forearms, she was careful of his wound but made sure that he was incapable of turning away. "That's not true, Frodo. He loves you!"

He flinched as though he'd been slapped, and Mrs. Gamgee nearly swooned at his reaction. She watched as rage and pain fought for control in his face, but he remained disbelieving. "What on Middle Earth makes you think that?" she demanded.

By the Shire, she wanted him to say it AGAIN? Anguish ripped through Frodo, and the grim thought came to him that once just wasn't enough, and he had to repeat himself a second time.

"He. doesn't. want me here!" he said, vehemently.

'What, she wants an explanation?' Frodo thought as he observed her bewildered expression. ' FINE!'

"He gets annoyed whenever I so much as come into a room! And he's ashamed of me, he won't even let me meet our relatives, and. . ." Fury was driving him mad to see that she was still staring at him as though he were nuts, and he plunged into the worst. "He didn't pay to get me back! He said no, I heard him! H-he didn't care enough to want me back, he left me there for them to kill me, he cared more about his stupid treasure and – "

Without warning Frodo felt himself suffocated in another hug, and his voice was muffled into the fabric of Mrs. Gamgee's dress. His body still ached and shook with the force of pent-up emotion, but his efforts to break away proved fruitless, and he slowly calmed.

A moment passed, then another. The outburst had given Frodo a short, powerful burst of energy, but it quickly receded and left Frodo feeling oddly blithe, his body limp in her hold.

When the arms around him finally loosened, he pulled back and frowned to see that it was Mrs. Gamgee now who was weeping.

"You poor child," she whispered, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "The way your imagination runs wild. . ."

Shock trekked up Frodo's spine, and his breath hitched painfully in the gasp that tore out of him.

"Yes," she repeated, catching him before he could speak. "Yes, you silly boy."

Then, to the little hobbit's bewilderment, a sudden relief washed into Mrs. Gamgee's face.

_By the Shire, if THAT was what was troubling him. . ._

A warm grin spread into her face, and she nearly laughed at how large the boy's eyes grew as he stared at her. Like little blue saucers. . .

"Dear, is that what's botherin' you? Why, if that be the greatest weight on your mind, you need only let it go."

Of course Mrs. Gamgee would say something like that, not knowing his uncle as well as he, Frodo figured. But there was an undeniable sincerity to her face that was unsettling, and Frodo felt an irritating tickling in the pit of his stomach even as he scowled in skepticism.

"W-what do you mean?" he muttered.

"Frodo," she breathed, holding him by his shoulders and looking at him as though he were crazy. "You really think your uncle doesn't love you, or he didn't try an' pay those bad men to get you back?"

The tickling started to spread through the rest of his body, and Frodo fidgeted madly with the end of his covers. "Er. . .didn't he?" Humiliation warmed his cheeks at how awkward that sounded.

Mrs. Gamgee sighed in bewilderment, and Frodo felt sudden chills creep up the back of his arms.

"Frodo, no," she said, firmly. "You're wrong."

"You don't know," he shot back, turning when she tried to meet eyes with him. He wrenched madly at the blanket.

"Oh, I don't?" she challenged. Frodo's heart skipped a few beats as Mrs. Gamgee expelled a long, exaggerated huff. "I don't know anythin', do I? I, who was here while you were miles away, I didn't see what guilt your uncle went through when you went missin', or the grief that nearly killed 'im when he thought that he'd lost you?"

At first Mrs. Gamgee sounded lightly sarcastic, leaving Frodo unperturbed, but her voice quickly dropped at the mention of his uncle. Then Frodo found himself struggling for breath, for a sudden tightness had grabbed a hold of the muscles in his lungs, closing them in a tight clamp and stifling any rebukes he might be thinking about making.

'_Mrs. Gamgee wouldn't lie to me,_' Frodo knew. Though stubbornness fought to re-gain control his head started to spin the same erratic loops it had when Bilbo had in the forest, when he'd nearly fainted in the thought that maybe, maybe, there was something he didn't know. Something he'd been mistaken of. . .

"So you really think that your uncle doesn't love you?" Mrs. Gamgee interrupted his dizzying thoughts. "An what, because you happened upon him when he was already in a grouchy mood, or broke a dish?"

Frodo nodded, suddenly feeling stupid. But no, she was twisting it around and making it sound stupid, wasn't she? It certainly hadn't felt like a stupid excuse when it happened! The little hobbit felt the blood rushing to his cheeks anyway.

"That's NO reason to think so ill of him, Frodo. Your uncle's jus' not used to taking care of a tweenager. The fact that he adopt you at all should really tell you somethin'. For him to be willin' to change his set lifestyle for your sake, well that was somethin' astounding for Hamfast an' I to see. An' yes, perhaps you two have your little beefs with each other, but no family doesn't, dear! That doesn't mean he regrets anythin' in adopting you. That doesn't change how much he loves you."

Frodo gasped, struggling to control the raging war inside himself. His heart was racing, then it nearly stopped, it felt as though heat smothered him before a cold chill made him shudder. . .

IT COULDN'T BE! Somewhere in the midst of the erratic fluctuations in his body, he'd heard the words as though listening to some foreign tongue, their phrases understandable but the meaning they built up mounting to something too great, too wonderful to really be anything more than gibberish. But she wouldn't lie to him, Mrs. Gamgee never lied, and as the idea played in the back of his head that what she was saying really was true, and he just wasn't admitting it. . .

'_But no, it just. . .it just. couldn't. be! Not after everything. . .'_

"You don't believe me?" she asked, peering into his face.

"I - I don't know," he stammered. His head lifted slowly, hesitantly, instinct still screaming at him not to.

"Believe me," she said, her voice sounding so steady and sincere as it ran through his head. He almost wished that she would stop talking for a second, just so that he could slow his ragged breathing and take in what she'd said.

It was too much. The familiar warmth that had coursed through him when he'd broken down in his uncle's arms renewed itself in his limbs, and he felt himself sagging.

Oh, even if a part of what she said were really true, that Bilbo hadn't been annoyed to death with him and had cared a little bit when he'd gone. . .if only that much were true!

But she wasn't finished. "Frodo, you cannot imagine how worried he was when you were gone," she continued, tightly. "I know what you went through was horrible, but believe me when I say your uncle went through quite an ordeal as well."

"W-what do you mean?"

"My goodness, Frodo, with worry! Why, the instant he found you'd not come home he was a nervous wreck! First thing he did was come see Hamfast an' I to get help!"

"He did?" Frodo whispered, the sudden and throwing image of his uncle, worried, and rushing down the hill clouding all other thoughts.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, as though any other reply would be ridiculous. "An' he weren't the only one lookin', dear. There was a great search party that went out to try an' find where you'd gone. Practically half the Shire were out lookin' for you by the first day!"

"W-what?" Frodo asked, a short laugh escaping him. Just the idea. . half the Shire scrambling about, poking behind haystacks and ducking under bridges, why it was hilarious! And to find him? Frodo felt his head shrinking between his shoulder blades in self-consciousness, warmth coming into his face at the surprise of what he was hearing.

Mrs. Gamgee smiled warmly as she watched the little hobbit attempt unsuccessfully to hide the redness in his cheeks. "It's true. You should've seen it, it was quite a sight," she admitted, now that she looked back. "Mr. Merry came back to search for you too," she added, and Frodo felt a sudden pang as he thought of his cousin. "For four days we were lookin' for you, dear. Believe me, your uncle was sick with worry, he even took orders from those pesky Boffins down the lane, remember them? I think he grayed a new shade in jus' that first day. . ."

Frodo paled at this. Quickly, he struggle to right himself before his limbs completely gave way and he slumped over in shock. His whole body was tingling the way it might when his hand would fall asleep, and his mind was swimming with a tumult of relief and astonishment that didn't seem to have an end!

'Your uncle was sick with worry. . .'

'He grayed a new shade in jus' that first day. . .'

'Took orders from those pesky Boffins'

It would've taken Bilbo his entire life's dignity to take orders from them, as he'd told Frodo on one occasion when they'd demanded him to take down his fence. . .

'Oh Elbereth!' Frodo's heart hammered in his chest. Again he wanted to beg for her to stop so he could digest even a fraction of what he was hearing, but his throat muscles were paralyzed, and she continued on.

"At first they'd thought you'd ran away," Mrs. Gamgee confessed. "Your uncle told us all about the small fight

you two had, an' he'd figured you'd run away from the big, nasty grouch he is."

Frodo choked on a laugh, though it suddenly felt inappropriate. If this were all true. . .well, he couldn't even pretend to protest that what she said didn't sound true, or that he was loathe to hearing it. But more than anything, astonishment ran through him, astonishment that he'd been so wrong in what he'd thought Merry, his uncle had been thinking, doing, when he'd been gone. . .

"Then your letter came," Mrs. Gamgee said, softly, jostling him out of his thoughts.

Frodo swallowed. The letter. It seemed so long ago now since he'd written it, he couldn't even recall what exactly it was that he'd said. Random phrases, informing his uncle of what had happened and anything else Tony and Strasser had dictated, then apologizing to his uncle for being such a burden. . .a confession he'd later cursed himself for admitting.

"It came in your uncle's mail four days after you disappeared, an' that's when we finally realized what had happened to you."

"And. . .and what did my uncle say?" Frodo asked, raising his eyes slowly.

"Say? Well, he didn't really say anything," she admitted, and the ironic tone in her voice strengthened the hobbit's curiosity. "Rather, he collapsed."

Pain ricocheted through Frodo's sides in the force which he was taken aback, literally. By the Shire this was too much, to much, too unbelievable to be true. "Uncle Bilbo. . .collapsed?"

"Pretty much," she replied, simply. "Now I'm not the writer your uncle is, so I cannot really tell you what a shock it was. It was indescribable, really. He couldn't even say anythin', he read it an' just fell to the floor. He'd been so worried about you even before this, but we all had thought you'd ran away, or perhaps fallen an' injured yourself somehow. But to know you'd been kidnapped – " Mrs. Gamgee broke off, and Frodo felt a knot of guilt in his stomach at how strained she sounded as she began this latest part of the story. "Well, we were all terrified for you," she said, bringing her hand up to stroke his cheek. "But for your uncle, to know that bad men had taken you, an' the blood that were on that paper. . .well, it right killed him there. Nearly the first thing he said at bein' revived was that he had to pay, an' rushed to get that treasures of his."

His eyes closed, fresh tears prickling his lashes. Mrs. Gamgee was quick to steady him before he completely tipped over, warmth and dizziness shedding him of the strength to support himself any longer. His throat started to burn as well.

'Elbereth. . .he didn't hate me. . .uncle Bilbo. . .he WAS really worried, I wasn't crazy to believe that or at least hope . . .he fell over. . .he was going to pay. . .'

"But," he protested. She paused, waiting for him to speak. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, memory of his own assumptions returned to him and he recalled what had happened in the forest. "But he didn't pay. He. . .did he not want me back in the end?" His uncle's harsh and desperate "NO!" still rung in his head. "I heard him say so," he said, faintly. "I heard him say no."

"Frodo, no!" Mrs. Gamgee whispered. But it was no use, the bleak recollections of what happened cast a fresh shadow in his heart, and he started shaking. Positioning herself so that she was sitting next to him, Mrs. Gamgee gathered the trembling hobbit in a tight embrace, rocking him slightly. "Frodo, don't think that, not ever. That's not true, not true."

"But it is!" he said hoarsely, wincing sharp at what Strasser had said:

"Deal's off. . .he wouldn't pay. . .how's it feel to know that you're uncle didn't pay for you. . . .tried to bargain you off. . . .the sum we asked for were too much fer 'im to spare from his own pockets!"

Bitterness stung the back of his throat, and he swallowed. "They told me he didn't pay. They. . .they said he didn't want me."

"They lied," she promised. One arm still holding him firmly to her, his head resting on her shoulder, she dabbed at her wet eyes.

A sudden rush of pity went through Frodo and he bit his lip from protesting further, seeing Mrs. Gamgee crying over him. Paralyzing shock aside, he was feeling significantly embarrassed, both for making Mrs. Gamgee so upset and at realizing the gigantic divide that separate what HE had thought was happening all this time, and what she was telling him was the truth.

Stupidity had never felt like such a blessing, and as Frodo's thoughts traced back to the exchange a great surge of excitement and relief went through him. By the Shire, had he been wrong all this time? Somehow, was it possible?

"What happened?" he asked, a soft determination in his voice.

"Well, it wasn't that," Mrs. Gamgee gasped. "Were you there, dear?" she asked, looking down at him and wiping her eyes one last time. "Did you see what was goin' on?"

"Yes. . .well, no," Frodo admitted, chewing on the insides of his lips in concentration. "It was in the forest, and one of the men had me with him on the top of the hill. I could hear some of it. . ." suddenly Frodo broke off and his cheeks went fresh aflame. The obvious hit him for the first time that he'd really only heard snatches of the conversation, almost none of it being his uncle.

"What had happened?" Mrs. Gamgee asked, softly. Frodo understood that she wanted him to talk now. Before she went on she wanted him to explain what he had went through, a story just as eager to be heard as hers was.

"Well. . ." his voice slowed before he even begun, and he paused to distractedly wipe away the tears drying on his cheeks.

For a few moments he lay comfortably in her warm, pillowing arms, facing the difficulty once again of figuring out when to really begin. He looked up to see she was gently pressing him to continue, and he just started talking, unknowing where his thoughts would stray.

"Well. . .at first they were arguing about whether or not to give me back or not if Bilbo paid. . ."

Fragments of their arguments came back to him, overwhelming him before he could continue. He recalled in painful detail how they'd casually bickered over whether or not to spare his life.

Mrs. Gamgee saw his grimace, and lifted her hand to press his head back to his shoulder. "Go on," she coaxed, gently.

"But. . .I was so scared," he admitted, weakly. "They were both so terrible, so cruel. They kept telling me that they were going to kill me in the end, and I just. . ."

Bree came back to him. . .the deathly stink of the hideous town, the icy, wet chill that clung to him even hours later after being kicked into the cold, slushy mud, the soulless expressions of the tall passer-byes. . .

"It was a horrible place," he whispered. "One of the men dragged me outside one night, and I'd never seen a more ugly place, not even the stables where the pigs leave their waste smelled or looked so horrible as there. And there were these men. . ." Frodo trailed off, carefully cutting out the worst parts, the deer, the mocking voices, his failed escape, all things that he knew would just upset her further. "It was a town full of men, and even when they walked by, no one helped, no one seemed to care. And I just kept thinking how horrible it was, and how much I missed the Shire. I wanted to come home so badly. . .but I didn't think that I would ever see it again."

His throat started to tighten, and Mrs. Gamgee's arm tightened around him, taking care not to jostle his arm or bruises too much. "Oh Frodo, I'm so sorry you had to go through that," she whispered, stroking his head.

"But. . .but then," he continued, eager to get his part of the story finished. "Then they started back to the Shire. When I woke up, I couldn't believe it," at this, Frodo struggled to find the words to describe the emotions that had engulfed him to wake up and be back in the Shire. "We were in the forests near the Brandywine. It was so beautiful, the trees were still green and the air was fresh and cool. . .it was so wonderful. I'd never felt so happy to be there in my whole life. And they were there, talking, and they said that they were going to give me back if uncle Bilbo paid. And then I saw him down in the valley, and I really thought everything was going to be all right."

A deep, unsettling silence fell, both of them knowing what actually happened.

"We got there and well. . .all right, I didn't see what was going on," Frodo admitted, with a half-smile.

By the Shire, if he'd made such a blunder . . .but he must have! And come to think of it, why on Middle Earth would his uncle have come to the forest had he not intended to pay? And he ended up saving him the last time. . .

Frodo rushed through the last part.

"I heard a little bit of what was going on, but I was on the ground and I couldn't see anything. And then. . .then the hobbit came," he added, frowning as he tried to recall the name Bilbo had mentioned. "What was his name?"

"Sandyman," Mrs. Gamgee provided, her arms instinctively tightening around him.

"Well. . .he was there. He wouldn't say anything to me, and then the man started to get angry as he watched whatever was going on down below. I just. . .I didn't understand what was taking so long, why Bilbo would delay just giving him the treasure so they'd let me go. And then. . .then the other man. . .the one that was down in the valley with Bilbo, he. . .he called up saying that uncle wasn't paying. And he told him to prove that I was really there."

It was too late to go back on what he said and skip over this part. Frodo pulled his bandaged hand from beneath the cover and held it out for Mrs. Gamgee to see. "And. . .and so he cut me to make me cry out, and prove to Bilbo that I was there."

"Oh dear," Mrs. Gamgee whispered, her eyes shining as observed his hand with fresh remorse. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be askin' you to say all this, you don't have to keep going."

But no, he wanted to go on. Now that he'd started, he began to feel real distance from what had happened, as though he were telling it, and no longer re-living it.

"It's all right, I can keep going," he said. He looked up to give her a small smile as proof that he was serious. "My hand was bleeding, and I was hurting, but more than anything I was growing more scared. . .terrified," he settled on a more distinctive word. "I started to wonder why Bilbo wasn't paying, and. . .wait, why wasn't he?" he asked, tilting his head up and frowning in confusion.

"I'll explain everything in a moment," Mrs. Gamgee promised. "Just finish your part. Let it out."

"Well, I heard them arguing down below but I didn't understand what was going on, really. Then I heard Bilbo scream "No!" really loud, and I thought. . .I thought he was saying no to paying for me," he confessed, the words pouring out of him. "And then Strasser. . .the other man came back up, and he told me what I'd feared, that Bilbo wouldn't pay and it was all over. They. . .they dragged me away, back to Bree, and I thought that he had left me to them to die."

His heart thudded against his chest as he finished. He didn't need to wait long before Mrs. Gamgee pulled him into another loose hug.

"Frodo, no, no," she whispered over and over.

They were the words that he had begged to hear for so long, that he hadn't been forgotten and abandoned to that dark place. For those words to reach his ears now proved not nearly as gratifying as the reassurance she had already given him that he'd never had to worry about any of this in the first place.

"Do you want to know what really happened?" she asked, and the lost, searching look in his eyes was enough of a response.

"Well, I wasn't there myself. Your uncle, Hamfast and Halfred went to make the exchange. I was sitting here in Bag End taking care that Samwise and Merry didn't follow, and they wanted to. They were both so worried for you. ."

Her eyes trailed down and she stared at him with such tenderness that Frodo blushed again, nestling deeper into the blanket wrapped around him.

"Your young cousin was beatin' himself up over all of this," she informed him. "They all were, Mr. Merry, Samwise an' your uncle. They were practically makin' a contest of it by the time I came by. Mr. Merry was angry at himself for what he'd last said to you, an' your uncle. . .well, as I said, he practically fainted when he read your letter and realized what had happened, that you'd been kidnapped by bad men. The first he did once revived was to agree to what those men wanted, and he showed Hamfast an' I where it was. . ." Mrs. Gamgee trailed off for a moment as she regarded him, thoughtfully. "Frodo, I don't know why you felt such fear that your uncle wouldn't pay to save your life. But givin' those men his treasures to get you back, home and safe, was NEVER a question," she assured him, sighing in relief as she felt the little body relax in her arms.

"And. . .and that night?" Frodo asked, faintly. "Did Bilbo just not give them enough or something?"

"Well, from what Hamfast told me, your uncle was afraid with you on one point. You say that you were afraid on whether or not they'd let you go? Well, your uncle was of the same mind. He was just as impatient as you to get the exchange done, an' over with, but the man refused to let Bilbo see you, an' he was afraid of giving 'im the treasure when you were still in their clutches."

Frodo realized the sense in that, and his head spun with a feeling of joy he'd never thought would ever return to him. His uncle DID try to pay for him. . .his uncle did want him back. . .

"An' you're right, they were arguin' about it," Mrs. Gamgee resumed. "But the man were bein' unfair though, an' wouldn't let your uncle see you, an' your uncle didn't want to give 'im the treasure until he had you back first."

"And. . .and I was hidden," Frodo stated, sure that his face was on the fire the way it was burning. . .

"Yes," she said, rubbing his arm in the comfort she wished she could have given him then. "Then the man got angry, apparently, an' he refused to let you go until your uncle gave 'im the ransom."

"Sounds like him," Frodo muttered, bitterly.

"By this time your uncle was gettin' hysterical, fearin' that you weren't there, at least until that man cut you, an' then he were falling apart even more. Hamfast told me your uncle cried out to you, did you not hear 'im?"

"No. . .I didn't."

Mrs. Gamgee sighed. "Well, then Hamfast came down to the clearing an' Bilbo did. . .do you hear me, Frodo? He DID give that terrible man the treasure. There were four sacks worth, an' he was prepared to give them all up to get you back. But. . .this part's still sketchy for me. . .a great group of hobbits apparently came by, an' interrupted what was going on. They saw the man an' tried to attack 'im, which wouldn't have been a bad thing, but it scared 'im and drove 'im away. When he left, empty-handed, we all assumed. . .well, we didn't think they would keep you alive. I'm sorry, Frodo," she whispered, her voice harsh with self-recrimination. "We should've tried harder to find you."

"He told me Bilbo wouldn't pay," Frodo repeated.

New hatred rose in him at Strasser that he hadn't been able to comprehend then. The ruffian had lied, out of fury and that simple chance to always kick him when he was down.

Why had he listened?!

Mrs. Gamgee lifted him up for a moment so she could readjust his small weight in her arms, and Frodo let the anger slide away. It didn't really matter now, he realized, and the comforting truth settled into him again.

"Frodo, I know how terrible this was for you," Mrs. Gamgee whispered. "A part of you won't be able to forget this, an' it will take time before you'll feel safe even to go outside again. . .well, actually it will most likely take longer for your uncle to LET you out of the hole, so don't worry about that. But just know, whatever you feared about your uncle not caring for you, or paying, well just forget them. Completely," she said, firmly. "Anythin' less than your uncle loving you more than anythin' in the world, an' that includes the treasure he got on that absurd journey of his. . . .well, just let it go. Because that's the truth for you."

Mrs. Gamgee gratefully gave him the time to rest and digest what he'd heard for all it was worth. He was shaking as bewilderment slowly, firmly hardened itself into understanding in his heart. It took a long while to drive out the haunting images of his uncle as he'd appeared in his nightmares, considering how vivid they had been just days, hours before.

It was the simple, but slow developing realization that if he just remembered his uncle as he had been before all of this had happened. . .there was the uncle that he'd woken to see in the forest, and the uncle that had tried so hard to apologize to him. . .

"So. . .what happened afterwards?" Frodo asked after a while. "I mean after the exchange. Did Bilbo come look for me?"

"Well," she began, hesitantly, biting her lip. "No. He. . . .we all thought you were dead, dear. You know when the men said they would harm you? Well, they threatened your uncle with the same thing, that they'd kill you if he didn't pay. An' when they left empty handed, we all assumed. . ." her voice trailed off, and Frodo saw the shadow fall over her face. "A search party went out to try an' find your kidnappers. Several of them went to Bree, an' that's where a lady came up to them and claimed she'd seen and taken care of you that night."

Memories of the kind lady that had nursed him in his feverish haze returned to him, and Frodo started. "There. .

.there was a lady!" he recalled, curiously. "She came and helped me, when I was really sick. She wasn't like them, she was actually rather. . .nice."

Mrs. Gamgee patted him on the head with a warm smile.

"Well, there's one face you can think of from there that wasn't so bad. She told the hobbits and a few rangers about you, an' they set off immediately for the Shire. If not for them, the rangers I mean, you might not have been saved, for they're the ones that captured that man an' I suppose killed the other."

Frodo nodded, pausing for a moment before asking, "And Uncle Bilbo?" This was something he had taken very long amounts of time thinking on, what his uncle had done to pass the time when he had then thought he'd abandoned him. "What was he doing then?"

"What do you think he was doing?" she asked, with a teasing grin.

"Well. . .reading, writing," he admitted, with a small shrug. "I suppose the usual."

Mrs. Gamgee sniffed, shaking her head in fresh dismay. "No Frodo, he wasn't. Believe me, he grieved terribly after the failed exchange. He was jus' sitting up in Bag End doing nothing. Not writing, not even the dishes," she said, making a point on that. "Look closer when you see 'im tomorrow. He looks much older now, an' that were due in great part to the anguish he felt these last days. He thought he'd lost you."

"And the second time. . .did he give them the treasure?" he asked, eager to have everything explained before he let the tears finally come. It would have to be soon. . .

"No. . I don't think so," Mrs. Gamgee said, frowning in equal puzzlement. "To be honest, dear, I don't know how it was he saved you. The foolish hobbit tried to save you on his own, an' didn't tell Hamfast about it. So I can't really answer that for you, you'll have to ask him yourself."

Frodo nodded.

"Well!" Mrs. Gamgee declared. "Now you know all that went on here. I hope that was a good enough description." She smiled to see the pale little face relax in a smile, and went on to appease him of the last doubt that lingered in his eyes. "It's all true, dear. Your uncle loves you so much. If nothin' else, I think he feels nervous to tell you how much. After all, he is your uncle an' not your parents, an' yet he's been given the responsibility as your parent. An' after all this, after all the guilt he's put himself through. . . .believe me, he doesn't want you to go back to Brandy Hall. But there are rumors goin' about that someone would try an' steal you away again. Your uncle is an odd one, unfortunately, an' he'd gotten it into his head that Brandy Hall would be safer for you," she said, making it out to sound perfectly ridiculous. "He doesn't want you to go, dear. That's the last thing he wants."

Frodo didn't say anything, but she could see the last of the worry lines in his face begin to smooth and she smiled.

"Does that help ease some stuff of your back?" she asked, innocently.

Frodo choked on a laugh, burying his face in her shoulder. Oh, if she only knew. . her words still spiraled through his head, slowly draining him of the dark emotions that had plagued him these last weeks.

"Yes," he said, softly.

Mrs. Gamgee could see that the fatigue that had weighed upon him this last hour or so was finally beginning to take its toll. He rested languidly in her lap, and his great blue eyes started to droop in weariness.

"It's late, we should put you to bed, then." Shifting his small weight in her arms, she pulled the covers back and gently deposited him back into bed.

"Thank you," he whispered after she thought he'd already drifted off, and she smiled down at him.

"I said nothin' that wouldn't have come out soon anyway," she replied, bringing the last layer of blankets up to his chin. "Jus' you concentrate on gettin' better for us now." Then, bending down, she laid a soft kiss on his head and stayed with him for the short amount of time it took for him to drift off to sleep.

TBC

See? BellaMonte is in fact capable of sweetness! :)

I hope Frodo's 'epiphany' didn't seem forced or too quick, considering he's been thinking different for so long now. But like the forest scene in 'the night has a thousand eyes' I tried to convey how Frodo does in give in to thinking the worst of himself on occasion, either not knowing any different or being to modest to admit it, but when told something straight and wholly believable (Mrs. Gamgee being the perfect person to do that) he does open up and reveal a trusting side that is not as damaged as he thinks. So much psychology. (sigh).

So there's the REAL beginning of Frodo's healing, now there's Frodo who has to feel bewildered for a while and then go 'crp! I've been so mean to my uncle!' that'll all pick up next chapter.

(Yawn) BellaMonte bids all good-night! Please review!


	30. Some Strange Sense

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

E-Mail: 

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I own no characters residing in Middle Earth, they are the property of one J.R.R. Tolkien

A/N: This is kind of a transition chapter more than anything, with musing, flashbacks, etc., but a necessary chapter nonetheless. The title refers to a flashback in the chapter. Hope you all enjoy!

Bookworm2000: "And Frodo needs that second epiphany of "What have I done to Bilbo?" to come in": Heehee, you've anticipated me Bookworm! "Did you ever stop to think about how his experience in Bree might effect his Quest later on?": Absolutely. All through writing chapter 10 'Broken' I was thinking 'how the heck is anyone going to expect Frodo to ever come back to Bree after THIS?' It'll take a lot of bravery on Frodo's part, but then he's just that sort of brave soul. And don't worry, Frodo's going to learn all about how the rangers helped him, so he'll not have the great fear of rangers so much (ehh, you're just driving to make a sequel of this, aren't you? :)

Eiluj: Thanks for the swell review, Eiluj! Glad you liked the Bell Gamgee mediator as a way to un-stress readers in one sitting. And don't worry, I have a good feeling that I'll still keep my focus on this story while I'm in college now that it's in the realm of happy chapters.

Ailsa Joy: Hey Ailsa! "Where would Middle-Earth be without Mrs. Gamgee?": Teehee, well if she didn't exist in my universe than sheiss would be dragging on for a bit longer, I think. Let's all get down on knees and thank her. Glad you liked the chapter! :)

CuriousCat: Fear not an end, CuriousCat! More than ten chapters still to go, and there will most likely be a few epilogues. Bilbo/Frodo interplay coming up very, very soon.

Shirebound: (sigh) You and Budgielover were the two I was hoping to ease the most, I'm SO glad you're not disappointed. :) "Will Frodo ask how he was rescued? Will Bilbo tell him about the Ring??": Oh yes, definitely! Lots more explanations are still to be said, and Bilbo's new little tidbit story's going to be a breath of inspiration in Frodo's ears, the poor lad's not had a fresh new story in months, he's got to be a bit bored at this point.

Arwen Baggins: As I said before, Arwen, I'm so glad last chapter helped to ease your day, even a little. I'm still praying for your Oma. :)

Endymion: Hey Endymion! "They are lucky that sensible Bell was handy and ready to take over Bilbo's part. Otherwise the torment would have continued": LOL, too true, Endymion. And you're absolutely right, Bell's mediation was good for Frodo and Bilbo both, but they are going to have to talk themselves. That'll happen soon, a promise. Lots of talk.

WildFire203: Hey Wildfire! Don't worry, your review didn't sound like an advertisement. Btw, how do you say 'advertisement?' like 'adverTIZEment,' or 'advertisment?' Just a silly question, wondering who's english out here and who isn't. Glad you liked the last chapter! sorry this one took so long.

Linriel: Thanks for the review, Linriel! And yess, it's a novel length story and has yet to finish, but I'm workin on that.

Budgielover: (sigh) As I said to Shirebound, you and her were the two I was praying not to disappoint the most. Am glad I didn't. And don't worry, more to come! Over ten chapters worth! Teehee. :)

Chaos: Hey Chaos! I'll try my best and write as much as I can in these last two. . .eek, now one week left! (rushes to get next chapter written)

Catgurl: Hey Catgurl! Don't worry, Pippin's going to have a role in the story yet, though he can't really talk so much so it'll be hard for him to help with the communication issues. So you're Pippin, eh? Well you'll find yourself in the story then, a few chapters ahead. Oooh and on your story idea, that sounds like a pretty cool idea! Give me a few days to brainstorm and I'll e-mail you if I come up with a handy suggestion. Thanks!

Fennelwink: Thanks for the touching review, Fennelwink! "However did these men get along without her?": (sigh) I have no idea, I shudder at the thought of what levels of angst I could've stooped to in this story had she not come in. Am glad you liked the chapter! Do not worry, more good comfort to come.

ClaudiaofBree: I don't think I've mentioned yet how much I love the new pen name, Claudia, much more defining than Claudia3. And speaking of Bree (sigh) how I dearly am hanging on the edge of my seat for a new chapter of TSS. . .oh, how I despair waiting. . .oh, how I'll wait. . . oh, how I'm brainstorming another Bree fic of my own to help get your Bree juices flowing. . . :)

Shlee Verde: Shlee! Glad I did not disappointed you. Yess indeed, Frodo/Bilbo comfort, healing, etc. thus begins. Though (ducks head) not a lot of interaction happens in this chapter, but I PROMISE what you are asking for comes in the next chapter, at least in part, and I'll get that posted as soon as possible. "Hopefully no one will screw that up -coughbilbocough": LOL, indeed, that hobbit just messes up right and left in this story. It's dramatic irony working against him at every turn. And sequel, eh? (Sigh) all right you got me, I've got a sequel buzzing in my head, I'm just a little worried since Shirebound's already covered Frodo's AU travels from Bree to Weathertop, and I'm thinking I could make it even more AU and do another story before LoTR storyline actually comes in, so (sigh again) I'm still debating what exactly to do. But I promise, the ideas are bubbling. And I've got a dozen or so chapters of this to cover still, so hopefully that'll keep you occupied in the meantime. :)

Idril Telrunya: (bows head) I know Idril, it was loooooong. Yeah. "I just wonder what Bilbo will think of his nephew's thoughts. That will be an interesting chapter, no doubt!": Teehee, I'm hoping it will be! Of course that's going to come out eventually, but as you'll see Frodo's going to feel such guilt over what he's put his uncle through (it's kind of ironic, roles switch soon where Frodo's the guilty one) that he doesn't want to tell him, though it'll come out anyway. Thanks for the lovely review!

Frodo stayed up after Mrs. Gamgee left him, believing him to be asleep. He had dozed a little, but no sooner had the door softly closed that the little hobbit shot up in bed, his heart continuing to pound in a slow, violent rhythm. Exhausted he was, but there was no chance he would be able to put his mind to rest until it had grasped all that he'd just heard, all that Mrs. Gamgee had just told him.

Her words still echoed in broken, jumbled phrases in his head:

'. . .grief nearly killed 'im. . .'

'. . .thought he'd lost you. . . .'

'. . .there's the truth for you. . .'

If it had been anyone but Mrs. Gamgee who'd said this, he probably wouldn't have believed them. He wouldn't have been able to. Merry, Sam, they all would have told him the same things she had, but he couldn't wholly trust that they were saying it out of honesty, or just a desperate wish for him to feel better. But Mrs. Gamgee, who he didn't know very well, had been so distinct in clearing up all his misunderstandings and spoke in a voice so sincere that there wasn't any way to really fight the lingering doubts in his mind that what she had said was true.

For the first time in probably his entire life, Frodo felt drained. His mind blank. The mild surprise of this left him with a light, airy feeling that lasted for an inconceivable duration of time. When he finally returned to himself, his uncle's name was the first memory to reappear. Then came the reminder of Mrs. Gamgee's words, and the weary, reassuring expression on his uncle's face when he had come to visit him after his parent's death. . . .

'Bilbo.'

A layer of tension left his face. He didn't even realize it was the small edges of a smile creeping in on him.

By the Shire, to compare his thoughts now to only two days ago. . .he NEVER would have been able to believe it, not a word of it, stubbornness and despair would have held him back. . . .but he'd been wrong. And gratefully so. Later he might even look back on that part as funny, though he was too dazed with shock to laugh now.

Frodo closed his eyes, dizziness making his head spin. Mrs. Gamgee's words continued to weave through his mind, words he couldn't deny that he'd so wanted to hear all this time, words he'd begged in his heart to be true. It had felt selfish to want it to be true, and fear had held him back from daring to admit that he wished it to be true. But that was all past, and now he found himself pinned against the undeniable truth of what dear Mrs. Gamgee had said.

His uncle Bilbo didn't leave him. . .he did care. . .he did love him. . .his uncle HAD come. All those lonely days at Brandy Hall when he'd been overjoyed at his uncle's unexpected arrival, all those times he had tucked him in, read to him, it hadn't been fake, or some dream. It had been REAL.

Frodo repeated it over and over in his head, and as he did the last of his doubts slowly began to disintegrate, replaced with a great, overwhelming feeling for his uncle that for so long he'd beaten down but couldn't destroy. Even in his darkest moments, he realized he hadn't been able to destroy it. . .with this heartening understanding, he felt the darkest of all shadows he'd faced depart from his mind.

'Where's Bilbo?' he suddenly wondered.

Frodo's eyes darted to the closed door, his heart pounding. He had to go. He had to talk to him now, he couldn't just sit and sleep now. Tentatively, he kicked the mounds of covers off of him, and began to turn in the direction of the door.

Then realization slammed into Frodo, nearly knocking him back against his bedframe. Recent shock was laid aside and forgotten as the much more serious guilt of what he'd done, how he'd backlashed his uncle ever since he'd been rescued came back to him.

"Oh no," he whispered.

Bitterness stung him in the reminder of how cold, how unresponsive he'd been to Bilbo, who had been nothing but his good, kind uncle. At the time, he'd felt proud of himself for not being even more cold. But now, knowing how wrong. . .no, .not, not just wrong, cruel he'd been to his uncle, who'd as Mrs. Gamgee said had done nothing but worry and suffer just as long as he had. . .

Frodo felt the blow of his recoils and backlashes almost as painfully as his uncle had. His heart skipped again. He wanted to leave, to get out of bed, to tell his uncle how sorry he was and he didn't mean what he said. All that steadied him from falling out of bed was the reminder, still new, but settling fast that there really wasn't anything to be angry about. . .

A wave of dizziness hit him in renewed weakness, and he had no choice but to fall back onto his pillows with a flop. He flinched when the movement jarred the tender bruises on his back, preventing him from moving.

Frodo groaned in frustration. But turning to the window, he saw the faint moonlight trickling in, and he was reminded that it was night. His uncle probably wasn't awake right now anyway.

Mrs. Gamgee's words returned to him about how his uncle had aged since the last time he'd seen him, and Frodo remembered himself how sad and weary his uncle had looked ever since he'd been back. He hadn't really thought on it much before, but now pity began to fester in his heart. Restlessness drove him to want to talk to him now, but if he were resting. . .well, he could tell him tomorrow.

'Yes, tomorrow,' he repeated to himself, settling down against his pillows. Comfort relaxed his limbs knowing that he wouldn't be leaving, and that his uncle would still be there when he woke up.

The slight smile that curved the edges of his mouth refused to fade even as Frodo drifted off to sleep.

Mrs. Gamgee closed the door softly behind her, hoping the sound didn't jar Frodo awake.

As she turned around, she was a bit surprised to see Bilbo standing nearby, his back to the wall. He looked as if he had been there for a while, though she doubted he could have heard them through the closed door.

"Did you speak with him?" he asked, his voice strained.

"Yes." Mrs. Gamgee brought a finger up to her lips to indicate he was sleeping, and then motioned silently for them to go into the den.

"And. . .and he spoke back?"

"Yes. Naturally," she added, with an amused frown, hoping to hide her confusion. She'd hoped that she would have a moment to gather her thoughts, not really sure what to tell him.

"Oh. . .good," the older hobbit said, heavily. Once they reached the den, he sunk down in his chair and rubbed his eye. Poor hobbit, he looked so tired. This would be his third night barely sleeping.

Pity tugged at her insides as she watched him. To think Frodo didn't believe this weary hobbit didn't love him. . .

"What did he say?" Bilbo asked, looking up. "Or. . .did he say much?"

"Quite a bit, actually." Mrs. Gamgee kept her tone deliberately light, while she chewed aggressively on her lip, not knowing what to tell him, and what not. With Frodo, she didn't mind telling him everything because for one, she always openly scorned her master for his oddities, and also there was nothing she had to say to the boy that would hurt him.

But Frodo had spoken to her hesitantly, even in the end, and she knew how the lad tried to guard his feelings, however unsuccessfully. Maybe she just wanted to give Frodo the time to sort this all out with his uncle on their own, as it should be, but in the back of her mind she felt a reluctancy to admit what he'd told her. Seeing the gaunt, worried look in her master's eyes, and how he bent over in the chair, she knew that exhaustion had now dragged him to the brink of collapse. . .

She couldn't tell him. Not now. Not Frodo's most serious point that the lad thought he'd hated him, naming all the mistakes his uncle had made, all the wrong turns that had mislead him to believe his uncle had abandoned him to those men. It would be too much for him. At least in this moment.

"Can you tell me?" he asked, still looking at her.

"Much of what he said, I think. . . he will tell you with time. Much of it we were already able to guess, with his sad state. And the rest. . ." Mrs. Gamgee trailed off, as she recalled what Frodo had told her about that awful town. That much was unavoidable to explain. "Sir, it was awful for him. He was in a terrible place. He. . .well, you know how very much he always wanted to go beyond the Shire. . .well, it was a horrible first experience. He was scared, and it was an awful place, with bad men. It. . .well, it wasn't like your adventure, sir."

"Of course not," Bilbo said, roughly, rubbing his hands on his knees. "He's always been so bold. . .he used to tell me that he wanted to follow me, the next time I set off," as he spoke, Mrs. Gamgee could see amusement faintly come into his eyes. "I always told him he was too young. . .and there are bad things out there. . ." then the guilt descended again, almost like a shadow that was always looming right overhead. "I should've warned him. . .it might have made it easier on him. . ."

"Stop now," she ordered, surprised at her own demand. When he shrunk into himself a little further, she continued. "No more dwellin' on what's past. Let's now get prepared for the next few days, few weeks. I'm thinkin' he'll be doin' better in the morning. Of course he has to get well an' all, but I just don't think he wants to be pushed to speak of it all just yet."

"No, no, of course not," Bilbo said, shaking his head.

Mrs. Gamgee suddenly recalled Frodo's greatest fear, being sent back to Brandy Hall, and she knew that was another unavoidable piece of information to reveal.

"One thing that need be decided now, or soon, is where he's to be kept. He thinks," Mrs. Gamgee sighed. "He thinks you're plannin' to send 'im back to Brandy Hall because you don't want 'im anymore. Or. . .that you're too tired to deal with 'im right now, or something."

"What? How can he think that?" Bilbo heaved, dragging his face up.

"Well. . . just remember the way you two left off that day," she said, "It still lays a bit heavy on his mind. But it's all right, because it were only a misunderstanding. There should be no problem! Just be the uncle he missed so much, an' let things settle down."

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I think I can do that."

"Good, so just don't be so rash on thinkin' the first visitor here is plannin' on unleashing chaos again. . .what does that mean? Why do you smile?" she asked, noticing the corners of his mouth perking slightly.

"I think you might be right about that after all." When she stared confused, he motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen. There she found a room sprouting flowers from every table, bench and even the floor. Pieces of parchment were attached to many of them.

So that was the fresh, sweet scent mixed with the dust she had been inhaling all day. She had wondered where it had come from. . .

"What is all this?"

"Gifts - from neighbors, Frodo's relatives at Brandy Hall, even the Boffins," he said, raising a particular parchment in his hand. As he read it over himself, his eyes softened a little before meeting Mrs. Gamgee's. "They're mostly for Frodo, hoping he feels better, wishing him well."

Lifting one of many laid on the table, Mrs. Gamgee smiled. "This one here also congratulates you for savin' 'im, sir. News travels fast, sir, an' they know what part you played as well."

This praise did not appear to rid him of the suspicion that would haunt him forever after all that had happened, yet there were traces of surprise in his face at the good will he had grown unfamiliar in receiving from his fellow hobbits.

It wasn't something wholly unexpected.

In the early hours of the following morning, Bilbo was roused from his sleep to hear faint mumbling coming from the small form beneath the covers. Closing the small distant between his chair and the bed, Bilbo perched himself over his nephew just as he began to stir fretfully. His eyes were open and blinking, but he seemed only half awake, his eyes bright and glassy, and he did not recoil at his uncle's presence. Doctor Boffin soon joined him on the side of the bed, his face turning grave as he felt the boy's flushed forehead, evidence of a returned fever.

To everyone's relief, the fever was nothing serious, merely a shadow of what it had been before. But regardless, Frodo was overcome with a great weakness and fatigue that kept him bedridden for the rest of the day. In the doctor's eyes, this was a step back from the plan to allow the boy to leave his bed for anything more than using the privy. The real worry turned out to be the nightmares that plagued the lad in his fevered sleep.

In his dreams, Frodo revisited Bree. The dark and the cold of that terrible place shrouded him again, and he turned his head left and right as Strasser yanked him down the street, searching for the door that would take him back to his room. He had been saved, hadn't he?

But there was none. Only the doors of nearby taverns swung open and shut, and tall, cloaked figures trudged by, never paying any mind for his desperate plea for help. Frodo tugged with all his might on the gigantic hand wrapped around his own, digging his heels into the mud, trying desperately to break free, only to be wrenched forward again.

Other times, he didn't even remember that he'd been saved. As he curled into himself as the men stared down at him with piercing eyes, he would try to remember why this didn't feel right. Why was he here, hadn't something happened? Well, it mustn't be anything important, because he was here. The cold trekked up his spine as he was kicked into the muddy slush. He tried to get up, and he was just thrown down again, the force of the blow enough to make him choke. . .

Frodo snapped his eyes open to a dark ceiling and many faces over him. His chest hurt from gasping, and he was wet with cold sweat.

"W-what?"

"Shh, dear , it's all right." Hands were pushing him down, replacing the sheets that he had previously kicked off.

Frodo groaned, the sound coming out more as a whimper. He brought his hand up to block the coming tears. A dream. That was all. Just a dream. Hands were still smoothing the covers over him, and he could hear their grave whispering in the background. A dream. He'd just been dreaming. He hadn't gone back. It wasn't real. It wasn't!

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"No, no, it's all right dear," Mrs. Gamgee soothed, pressing the back of her hand to his cheek. "You've been dreamin', but it's all right. Your fever's broken." Doctor Cotton suddenly whispered something to her, and she nodded.

Frodo concentrated on trying to slow his ragged breaths. Turning, he saw Bilbo standing across the room, watching but seeming reluctant to come closer. Frodo's stomach twisted in suddenly wishing that his uncle would come over, but he couldn't work the words out of his sore throat.

For a moment Frodo wondered why his uncle wasn't beside him, but then he understood with an unusual new clarity that he was probably staying there for his benefit, after how hysterical he had been the last time his uncle had tried to console him. . .

"Master Baggins, would you please fetch some fresh sheets?" Doctor Cotton inquired, and Frodo missed his chance to speak for the moment as he watched his uncle retreat from the room.

Mrs. Gamgee turned to him again. "Frodo dear," she said, "Your fever's broken finally, but you're still sleepin' awfully restless. An' we can't have that, not with you still needin' to regain your strength. So we're goin' to give you somethin', the doctor says it will help you sleep."

"W-what is it?" Frodo said, dark memories returning to him.

"It's a drug," the doctor replied. "It's a sedative that helps put one to sleep, and allows them to sleep deeply, not keeping them in a state where they can dream. . . ."

Visions of the sickeningly sweet rag came back to him, and he gasped, turning his face into his pillow. "No, no," he stammered, screwing his eyes up against the fear that seized him of being put to sleep.

"Dear, you don't understand, it won't hurt you," Mrs. Gamgee promised. When the boy didn't reply, she stooped down so she was at eye level from him. "What's wrong?" she asked, lowly.

"I. . ." Frodo squeezed his eyes shut again, not wanting to admit what had happened. He had already said so much. . .he'd hoped to be able to hide the most painful details. "They. . .they did the same thing. They gave me this drug, bella something that made me sleep. . .they pressed a rag over my face to make me breath it in. . .they did it to keep me quiet. . ."

Frodo heard her make a small noise of despair before continuing. "No dear, it's not belladonna I promise. We wouldn't do that to you," she said, and Frodo felt her hand pat his curls. "This is not the same thing. For one, it's a drink dear, you only have to drink it."

"That's right dear boy," Doctor Cotton piped in. "This be a completely different drug, and it will merely help you drift off and sleep longer. It has not the instantaneous effects as belladonna, I assure you."

Frodo didn't respond at first, the memory of the sickeningly sweet smell and the darkness that swept over him like a blanket livid in his mind. But Elbereth, he was so tired. He knew he'd slept for days now, but his eyes still felt like leaden weights, ready to fall and drag him back to sleep, back to dreams that had once been real. . .

But they said it wasn't the same. . .and in his heart, he knew they'd never do anything to hurt him. . . .but were they sure? He so wanted to forget all of it, he didn't want to be afraid anymore. But it was so hard. . .

Turning his head to the side, Frodo saw Bilbo come back into the room, a set of new blankets in his arms. For a moment their eyes met, and he saw that his uncle still looked exhausted, his face bent and pale with worry.

"All. . .all right," he finally whispered.

While Mrs. Gamgee helped to sit him up, the doctor reached for a mug on the table. He had already prepared the drink after hours of listening to the boy's frantic, incoherent mumbling.

"The drink's still a bit hot. You may find it to have a rather bitter taste, but it helps to relax the mind. You will most likely not dream much, if at all."

Frodo nodded quickly, and as the mug came up to his lips, he took a small, tentative sip. He cringed. Ugh, it DID taste bitter. But after the first sip, the bitter taste proved a bit heartening, it wasn't the sweet smell of before.

When he was close to the bottom of the mug, Frodo felt himself sway a little. His head had begun to feel very heavy, and the weights on his eyes began to close at their own accord. He could hear voices speaking rather slowly, and he felt the vague sensations of being placed back into bed. No sooner had his head hit the pillow that all sounds and sensations drowned away, and sleep took him.

A moment passed. The doctor laid his hand on the boy's brow, and smiled lightly. "He sleeps."

A great breath of relief issued from the three hobbits, who had all stayed by the boy's bedside the entire day.

"Well sir, since Frodo be sleepin' for the next ten hours or so, I hope you don't mind if I skip back home for a short while," Mrs. Gamgee said, before passing out of the room. Doctor Cotton soon followed, and that left Bilbo alone in the room with his sleeping nephew.

The old hobbit felt an odd combination of relief and guilt as he sat in the chair beside the bed. It felt wrong somehow to approach the boy even under the veil of sleep, knowing how he had recoiled from his presence. For that reason, he had attempted to keep himself at a safe distance when Frodo had woken. It was only now, when he was oblivious to his being there that Bilbo felt safe to come closer.

"My dear boy," he whispered, taking his warm, bandaged hand in his own and brushing away the stray curls in his face.

'Unbelievable,' Bilbo thought, as he gazed down at him. No matter what horrors this child had gone through, all pains he had suffered, his face still looked peacefully content in sleep. The tense contortions had left his face, and with a small stroke of his thumb over his brow, Bilbo watched as the last line diminished so that he looked no different from the twelve year old boy he had found sleeping ten years before.

'He is the same,' Bilbo thought, strongly. 'He just doesn't know it.'

Under the circumstances, one might think that the old, weary hobbit was being too optimistic or his hope was blind in what he believed. But he felt a faint, sure hope in his heart that Frodo was going to be all right in time, that even after all that had happened, it hadn't killed him inside. It couldn't have. Bilbo knew him too well. He'd already seem him fight despair in the days, weeks following his parent's deaths. For days the boy had laid in bed, sick with the grief and the loss of the two most important hobbits in his life, and struggling with the weight that he would never seen them again in this world. . .and even after all that, Bilbo had watched him get up again at his own will and resume life with only the faint hope that there might be something in view that would one day give answer, or consolation to this grief.

Bilbo knew how brave the boy was, even if he himself didn't know it, or believe it himself.

As Bilbo continued to watch over him as he slept, his own eyes began to droop, a distinct memory coming upon him

(Brandy Hall, 1382. Frodo is 14, Bilbo is 92)

All at Brandy Hall had been stunned at his visiting for Yule two years in a row. All his smaller cousins were especially delighted, and Bilbo's mild fears were appeased that their parents had not yet convinced them of his being 'mad' just yet.

No sooner had he arrived that they all huddled about him in his armchair by the fire, begging him to tell his story about the dragon and the mountain he traveled to. Frodo was among the faces of eager listeners, and Bilbo was glad that he'd managed to secure himself a spot right in front of him, his hands resting on his knee.

Bilbo carried on the story just long enough, so that he was finished by the time all the parents came in and called for their children to come to bed. It was a bit unsettling when no one called Frodo, at the same time he felt glad to be able to spend some time alone with him. The chance to see his little nephew was the only real reason he'd come to Brandy Hall for Yule, anyway.

"So, did you like the story, my lad?" Bilbo asked, peering down and placing a hand on the boy's curls.

"Oh, I loved it. But," Frodo added, sheepishly, "I remember hearing it before."

"Ah, so that's why you didn't jump as the others did," Bilbo said, grinning, surprised that the lad remembered him telling it so very long ago.

"Yes, but then you hadn't mentioned the eagles coming at the very end last time. . .that was a new twist."

Bilbo smiled. At seeing Frodo blinking tiredly, he reached down and lifted the small boy into his lap. Frodo sank gratefully into the embrace, curling up and resting his weary head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I had to trade you around with the others for a spot on my lap," Bilbo said, readjusting him a little so he could reach for a blanket on a nearby chair and drape it over them. "You know I kept you on the longest."

"I know," Frodo said, yawning. "Each of us likes to have our turn. We all look forward to seeing you."

"Well, you know you're my favorite."

Frodo smiled, a faint pink coming into his cheeks even as he began to slowly doze off.

"Thank you so much for coming for Yule, uncle," he said, clasping his little hand over Bilbo's. "I've missed you so much."

The older hobbit sighed, feeling a mixture of flattery and uneasiness at the boy's honesty. Unable to articulate either emotion into words, he chose to squeeze the hand back. "I've missed you too, my boy."

Frodo smiled again, but it was a half-smile because he was nodding off, his breathing slow and calm.

Bilbo took a moment to really look at him, and he was amazed at how remarkably well he looked. For weeks the poor boy had been so weak and pale with grief that he'd barely had the strength to eat. But time had passed, and he'd slowly regained himself, and now he looked no different than the clever, perky child that he'd been before, if not more hard at the core.

"How are things, my lad?" Bilbo finally asked. "I mean, is everything all right here at Brandy Hall?"

"Yes," Frodo said, lifting his tired eyes and nodding. "Well. . . it was so hard at first. . .but Aunt Esmy's always very nice, and she helped, and my cousins too. And you're still here," he added, gratefully.

"Oh, I'm not here very often, my boy," Bilbo said, "If anyone was responsible for your getting better, it was yourself. You've been a very brave lad these last years."

"No, you are uncle," he said, frowning. "I know you're very busy. . . with your book and your trips and all."

Bilbo smiled, though the nagging uneasiness had returned to him. His book and his 'trips' that Frodo called his day-  
long walks were hardly an excuse not to see him more. He hadn't realized the lad looked forward to his visits so very much. . .

As he watched the lad fall asleep on his shoulder, Bilbo wondered not for the first time why he didn't just adopt the lad? Well, it would be a very big step, and a big change, and the lad did seem to be doing fine here at Brandy Hall, where his parents had surely wished him to be. Here, with Primula's relatives, and not Drogo's crazy cousin. Or perhaps he was just using that as an excuse instead of admitting how much he'd grown to love and care for this little boy. How he wondered, even though it was unbearably selfish, whether their death had some strange sense behind it. . .whether he was meant to be the one to step up and take care of him. . .

(End flashback)

Bilbo felt ashamed as he looked down on the sleeping boy and saw what his 'care' had done to him.

Mrs. Gamgee's words from last night came back to him, and he wondered how Frodo could possibly not know how deeply he cared for him. It was actually strange that he should think that, for Bilbo had often wondered the same, on why Frodo cared so deeply for him. After all, Bilbo remembered fondly how the sprightly two year old had crawled to him and said his name, Frodo had been the one that had chosen him first.

Bilbo wasn't sure how long he remained there, half of his body sitting in the chair, the other half leaning on the edge of the bed, fighting sleep as he continued to watch over his nephew. Eventually he heard the faint patter of feet and he turned to see Merry come into the room.

"Uncle, could I have the key to the pantry again?"

Bilbo sniffed, humorously. "Your appetite's returned, has it?"

"Er. . .no, not exactly. I need some ice for my hand," he said, coming over and sitting on the edge of the bed. His eyes were sad as they gazed down at his cousin. "Is he sleeping?" he asked, with soft concern.

"Yes," Bilbo replied, rubbing at his left eye as his vision began to blur. "He was having another bad nightmare. They gave him a drink to help him sleep."

"You look like you could use some yourself," Merry remarked. "Go to bed, uncle."

Bilbo huffed at his nephew's bluntness. "And what about you?"

Merry grinned, sheepishly. "I'm still awake. I don't think I could sleep now, with so much that's happened."

"Well, I'm of the same mind," Bilbo said.

Merry chewed on his lip for a few minutes before he finally asked the question that had been weighing on his mind all day. "Uncle. . .you're. . .you're not going to send Frodo back to Brandy Hall, are you?"

"No," Bilbo said, firmly. "I. . .well, your father and I talked about it and he thought that it was best to leave things as they are. For now, anyway. Frodo's thoughts on the subject will of course have importance, but as the doctor's said he's not to be moved at all until he's well enough. . . ." trailing off, Bilbo took a moment to reflect on his past conversation with Saradoc. He had been more than stunned when the Master of Buckland had trusted him enough to keep him. After all that happened, Bilbo supposed it was the fact that Frodo was safe after all, and that he had aided in saving him that had eased much of the distrust for him.

"Good. . good," Merry said, heavily. "Because he did hate it there, uncle. And. . .yes. . . I'll miss him. . .but he's so happy, being here with you."

Bilbo smiled sadly as he heard this, and squeezed Frodo's hand. "He's mad at me right now, Merry."

"He's mad at me too," Merry admitted. "Maybe if we grovel enough the next few ages, he'll be able to forgive us some."

For a while they both sat in silence, watching the boy sleep in a peaceful state of nothingness.

TBC

Arg now even Merry's more philosophical than Bilbo. :)

Next chapter coming soon, and Shlee Verde I PROMISE there's Frodo/Bilbo interaction, and Frodo/Merry too. Hope the little Bilbo/Frodo 'flashback' was a bit of an easer.

Next chapter will be here before Tuesday. That is if Hurricane Isabel doesn't sweep away my laptop. All who live on the East Coast, brace yourselves! Tis coming this night! Am hoping Pennsylvania's a safe enough distance. Hope everyone has prepared themselves for it!

Please read/review!


	31. A Visit

Title: Treasures  
  
Author: BellaMonte  
  
E-Mail:   
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: I own merely Val and the nasty kidnappers.  
  
A/N: Greetings all! I apologize for the month-long absence. Sophomore year's turning out to be about the same amount of work load as last year, and a problem with the Information Technology people at my school resulted in my laptop crapping up after a 'mandatory' virus scan was putting on it, resulting in my having to wipe out my entire hard drive. So there's been some hindrances in my updating.  
  
The original chapter 32 of this story is not going so well, so I've decided to bump this interlude chapter/flashback up a bit. It was supposed to go after the next chapter, but I don't think there's any harm in putting it here. For some reason, the next chapter isn't working out. . . I actually might go back and re-work the chapters a bit, especially the last five or six chapters, which I scrambled to write in the weeks before I left for college. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this flashback chapter!  
  
Thanks to all who reviewed! I'm sorry if I couldn't get to all of you, and all of the responses are much shorter than normal. I'm posting this really late, and as Shlee Verde would say it I'm very "loopy" right now. Not so articulate in the responses. Will answer back more in next chapter.  
  
Shirebound: I was thinking of your latest challenge fic story, where Frodo's sick on his birthday when writing this flashback. It put me in just the right cuddly mood. :)  
  
Chloe Amethyst: (Sigh) Us waiting folk. I know the feeling, Chloe. Teehee. Sorry it took so long to get this posted. Hurricane Isabel was a month ago by now. . .ack, this took a while.  
  
Endymion: Teehee, I know I'm bad drugging Frodo right as he and Bilbo are at a point of making up. I swear conversation will ensue in the next chapter, there'll be a conversation between Frodo, Bilbo and Merry at once. It's just not coming out right. . . .  
  
Bookworm 2000: "Okay - he's had the epiphany - now where's Bilbo reassurance that he loves him?": Don't worry that's coming, it's been my sadistic desire to make this story drag as much as possible for everyone - the readers, the characters, and myself having to write it from the beginning. The sequel's up in the air right now, I'm playing with ideas, but I also have some more Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter stories playing with my muse as well. I suppose I'll end up like Claudia in the end, and have twenty fics all uncompleted. :)  
  
Shire Baggins: I'm glad you liked the chapter, Shire Baggins! (Sigh) It would be wonderful for us all to have a Bell Gamgee in our lives.  
  
Ladybug: Thanks for the review, Ladybug! Thankfully Hurricane Isabel did not sweep away my laptop, instead my college computer sht heads had to crap it up instead. (Sigh) Evil irony.  
  
Shlee Verde: Hey Shlee! Old friend, it feels like it's been so long! Am very glad you liked the last bit. So you're eager for Bilbo/Frodo cuteness? Hope this chapter does the trick though (nods head guiltily) it's past-tense cuteness. :)  
  
Obelia Medusa: Obelia! (Sobs) You mean. You call my story "tortures" (pouts). Thank you sooo much dear for reviewing all the chapters, that was very heart-warming to read. I hope classes are going well! Mine are a bit chaotic at the moment, hence short chapter that's only a flashback and brief reader's responses. I'll make it up next time!  
  
Kaewi: Thank you so much for the review, Kaewi. I was very touched that you came forward to let me know you like the story. I hope you do write your stories! Believe me when I say that I was a lurker for years before I started writing this, and you never know what great writers are going to be attracted to your story - I still get flabbergasted that Claudia, Shirebound, Budgie, etc. actually read this. So don't feel frustrated, I'm sure you've got greatness inside. Let the heart sour on :)  
  
Budgielover: (breathes sigh of relief) Am very glad my attempts at Bilbo/Frodo reconciliation are helping to nurse your wounded heart. And to be honest that "bella-something" wasn't intended, but yeah the name just sort of fits, doesn't it?  
  
Niphrandl: Thanks for the reviews, Niphrandl! And yeah, go Merry! Your response reminded me of a wrestling match fan (at least that's how I usually respond to wrestling :)  
  
November was known to be the month when winter began to truly descend upon the Shire. The air grew bitterly cold, and what crisp, fragile leaves were left on the trees were ripped away by the harsh, searing winds. It was a unbecoming month in the Shire, for the grass and trees had been stripped of their lovely greenery, and had not yet been adorned with the fresh white of the first blizzard.  
  
It was the first November after Frodo's parents had died that Bilbo brought the lad with him to Bag End for a month-long visit. Five months had passed since that dreadful night on the Brandywine, and since that time Bilbo had felt increasingly guilty for only visiting the lad twice since the funeral. Both times had been brief visits.  
  
It had been on the second visit that he had began to entertain himself with the idea of bringing Frodo with him to Bag End for a few weeks. Then he could spend some real time with him for more than a few days, without the distractions of other relatives.  
  
When he had first proposed the idea to Saradoc, the Master of Buckland had been reluctant to allow Frodo to come with him, considering he was engrossed in his studies and he didn't want him to get behind. Bilbo was able to detect some unguarded animosity on Saradoc's part; perhaps he feared that change wasn't a good thing for the young hobbit to undergo after just settling into Brandy Hall months before.   
  
Yet Frodo had been so happy to see him, and had become even more so when the idea was suggested to him of  
  
coming with Bilbo to Bag End that his Uncle Saradoc had agreed. Bilbo's added promise that he would keep Frodo attentive to his studies had been the final reassurance. It had been a fit of course, but it was a last effort to convince him.  
  
From the dark, deep-set circles under Frodo's eyes and the visible effort it took him to smile at dinner, Bilbo couldn't help but feel that the lad needed a break from work, from Brandy Hall. As they ventured back to Bag End Bilbo came up with plenty of ideas on what he could do to keep the boy entertained. Let's see, there was a number of trails about Hobbiton that he was sure he'd like, and there was going to be a great dinner hosted by his cousin Dora in a few weeks. But above all, Bilbo wanted the lad to get rest. . .just lots of rest. He needed it.  
  
At the beginning of their trip, Frodo had been lively and talkative and his curly-topped head had swivelled about constantly in his seat as he attempted to take in parts of the Shire he had not seen in years. But the cold, biting November air and the gray clouds that brought night in early had quieted the lad, and by the time they reached Hobbiton the boy had fallen asleep, his head pillowed in his uncle's lap.   
  
With one hand holding the reins, Bilbo rested his other arm about the lad's shoulders, his hand gently stroking his curls to soothe him as he lay drowned in sleep.  
  
It was late evening when Bilbo pulled the wagon in front of Bag End. He didn't want to wake the lad, who was now snoring softly in his lap, yet as Bilbo tried to lift him the slight movement jarred him awake. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, sleepily.  
  
"Are we there?" he asked abruptly, as though the conversation had never ended.  
  
"We are," Bilbo said, smiling. "Ready to go in?"   
  
"Mmm-hmm," Frodo responded, nodding as he untangled himself from the quilt Bilbo had wrapped around him.  
  
"Oh, don't worry about your things, lad," the older hobbit said as he saw him reach over the back for his bags. "Let's just go inside and get warmed up. I'll have my Gaffer bring them in later."   
  
Taking his hand, Bilbo led the lad up the steps to the big green door of Bag End. A big smile warmed his cheeks as he watched Frodo's blue eyes widen in astonishment, taking in the great hall scattered with books, maps and other decorations.  
  
"It's so big, uncle!" Frodo gasped, unconsciously edging closer to Bilbo's side as he peered round the corner to see the rooms beyond. He looked up, his dark eyes shining in wonder. "And just you live here?"  
  
"Yes my boy, at least since my parents died. Then it became my own. I forget that it's been so long since you've been here. You were six last time, if my memory does not deceive me," he said, removing his young nephew's coat and hanging it on a knob along with his own. "Do you remember, lad? You went wandering down one of the halls and got lost. . .or so we thought, until we found you in a back pantry trying to get into my sweets," he added, patting Frodo's curls.  
  
It was a relief to see a tentative, but happy smile come into Frodo's face. It was good to see again.  
  
Once all their scarves and coats were hung, Bilbo wrapped an arm about his nephew's shoulders and guided him into the kitchen.  
  
"Come, let's have supper," he said, coaxing Frodo to sit down in a chair by the table. "I've already prepared some mushroom soup and those biscuits you like."   
  
"Thank you, uncle."  
  
Lighting a few candles, Bilbo immediately poured some tea for the two of them. In the moments that passed, Frodo didn't say much, but stayed curled up in the chair, his tired blue eyes following his uncle as he went about preparing dinner. He'd asked to help, but Bilbo had shaken his head and told him to rest himself. He knew he was exhausted. Every few seconds he'd hear him release a yawn, even when he tried to prevent it.  
  
"So I've arranged with Saradoc that you stay here with me for a few weeks," Bilbo said in a conversation tone. He set a cup of tea in front of him. "So feel free to wander about Bag End as you please. You can finally see my excellent collections of books and lumpy old chairs for reading or taking naps. I also have some things planned for us to do, so you're not too bored."   
  
"Oh, I won't be bored," Frodo said, smiling gratefully as Bilbo set the soup and biscuits on the table.  
  
"Well, we'll see," his uncle replied, half jokingly. "Perhaps your uncle Saradoc hadn't warned you, but I can be a very boring hobbit."  
  
In truth, Bilbo hadn't ever taken care of a lad, and he doubted whether Frodo wanted to have been spared from the fun and games at Brandy Hall to simply watch him work or read. Though Frodo was, to his pride, an avid reader and always did love to listen to his stories. But right now, Bilbo was more interested in hearing how his little nephew had been faring these last months.  
  
Five months. . . it still felt like it had happened just a week ago, a moment ago, or not at all. . .it was as though it had just happened, and he was still reeling from the shock of having lost two of a very small collection of hobbits he trusted to call his friends. Bilbo felt an ache in his heart whenever he thought of them, and this ache twisted more as he thought how his grief was surely nothing compared to what Frodo was feeling. . .  
  
"So. . .how is everything?" he asked, sitting across the table. "At Brandy Hall, I mean."  
  
Frodo set his spoon down, and shrugged half-heartedly. "It's all right, I suppose. It's," he wrinkled his nose, his eyes wandering as he contemplated the right word.  
  
"It's different, isn't it?" Bilbo provided.   
  
Frodo nodded, his dark silky curls falling in his face. Hmm, the boy might also need a hair cut while he was here.  
  
"It's so big, and crowded. And I never knew I had so many relatives. I mean," he said, smiling slightly, even so that some color came into his cheeks. "I practically walk into a room and meet a new aunt or cousin."  
  
Bilbo chuckled, taking a sip of his soup. His laughter encouraged the lad to continue.  
  
"It's all right," Frodo said, with another shrug. "Merry's really happy that I'm always there now."  
  
"Ah yes, the Brandybuck heir. He's eight now, isn't he? Hard to believe. Though it seems you were just eight too," he added, fondly.  
  
"Oh come now uncle," Frodo said, his eyes falling into his soup, his cheeks growing rosier in color.  
  
It was a pleasant evening. When Frodo became at a loss of what to say about Brandy Hall, Bilbo told him about some of the things going about Hobbiton. There was a new family that had moved in down the lane, the Gamgees were expecting a new baby soon. . .  
  
Bilbo was relieved when he cleared away the table and found that Frodo had finished his soup, biscuits and still had some room for a little apple tart. He would have been perfectly happy to have Frodo stay up with him while he read by the fire, but he could tell the lad was growing terribly drowsy again.  
  
"Why don't I show you your room," he suggested, gently guiding him down the long hallway. "It's the room I had when I was a lad." Knowing his nephew's fondness for splendid views, he had immediately disregarded giving him a room on the other side of the hole in favor of the hill side, where there were windows. His room always had an especially beautiful view of the Shire, the window angled in such a way to let the bright sun trickle in, in the morning. Also . . . "My room is just two doors now, so I'll be close by if you need anything."  
  
Stopping in the doorway, Bilbo lifted the candle up so that the room was lit with a faint glow. He smiled, enjoying the similar look of timid astonishment that had come into his nephew's face when he'd entered Bag End. "I hoped you'd like it. Is it suitable?"  
  
"Oh, of course!" Frodo breathed, looking up worriedly, as though he thought his uncle had been serious. His eyes went back to wandering the room again for a moment before his bewilderment came upon him, and he edged nearer to his uncle, holding onto the ends of his coat like a nervous leaf on its stem. It almost didn't seem right to accept this. His uncle had been so kind to him, and he didn't know how to say how much easier he was making everything, as he always made things better. "It's so big, though!"  
  
"Yes, well the best part is the view you'll have tomorrow," Bilbo said, patting his curls. "Of course, it's not the best time of year, but this room's always the first to be greeted with the morning sun."  
Hamfast had been good enough to bring Frodo's things in while the two hobbits ate their dinner, and together they put the clothes in drawers. After helping his young nephew change into a soft, flannel nightgown he'd bought for him for his birthday, Bilbo helped him into the soft feather bed. He was surprised when Frodo didn't ask for a story, but he knew that he was terribly tired.   
  
Bilbo smiled as he tucked the last of the covers up to Frodo's chest. "Have a good sleep my lad," he said, softly, "And don't worry about getting up at any time. Sleep as long as you like."  
  
Frodo nodded. For a moment there was silence between them, and suddenly his young nephew sat up and wrapped his arms about him in a hug. "Thank you, uncle he whispered."   
  
The older hobbit was a little surprised at the abrupt action, but was quick to return the hug, gratefully. "Oh think nothing of it. It's wonderful having you here, my boy," he said, softly.   
  
The small arms tightened about him, and Bilbo felt a deep tugging at his insides as he continued to hold him.  
  
With an extreme yawn, the boy slowly detached himself from his uncle and curled up under the covers.  
  
"Good night, uncle," he whispered, his eyes drifting shug.  
  
"Good night, my boy."   
  
TBC


	32. New Tales to Tell

Title: Treasures

Author: BellaMonte

E-Mail: 

Rating: PG-13

Feedback: Always welcome. :)

Disclaimer: I own merely the kidnappers and Val. All else belong to one J.R.R. Tolkien.

A/N: Greetings Everyone! Long time no see. A sea of excuses would flow if I started giving explanations for delay (sophomore year's turning out more hectic than freshman year, my laptop died on me twice, some crazy person made me editor in chief of the literary magazine. . . ) gah! There I go. Let's just say it was a busy quarter, and while it's been great sitting down to write 'Treasures' again, this chapter just wouldn't come out right for months.

(Sigh) No doubt everyone has now seen Return of the King. For my part, I cannot believe that the trilogy is finally over. It still feels like yesterday went and saw the first one, my little Gollum doll clutched in my hands, and chanting to myself "I'm never going to survive the wait for Return of the King!" My, does time fly by fast! Though I have to admit, while the movie was wonderful I think what helped alleviate my grief was that I had so many wonderful fanfiction stories to read and look forward to. For when it comes down it, this site and its authors have become just as dear to me as the actual series, and I hope that none of plan to stop writing anytime soon. :)

Here is an announcement to anyone who still holds an affinity for the ruffians Tony Chattin and Rob Strasser that had a pretty big part to play in earlier chapters (Ubiquitous Pitt, you'll love this :). My dear friend and fellow fanfiction writer, Obelia Medusa (author of the brilliant "The Making of a Ringbearer" series) surprised me not too long ago with a request to use those two baddies in a chapter or two of her story. While our stories are completely separate, she's implanted the two ruffians into her story and created a whole new plot where Frodo has the misfortune to run into them. Speaking for my part, her portrayal of Tony and Strasser freaked _me _out, I had no idea they could be so evil when you don't know what they're about to do next! (Cowers). Anyway, I strongly urge anyone that may be going through ruffian grief or loves a precious story about Frodo/Bilbo (with an actually comfortable, sweet relationship!) to read it, it's one of my greatest inspirations in my own story.

Brace yourself everyone, it's a loooooong one! Hopefully, it shall make up for lost time. Enjoy!

Shirebound: "I can never get enough of tender, cuddly scenes.": (Sigh). Shirebound, can't any of us. :)

Bookworm2000: "I like the little reference on how the Gamgees are expecting a baby. . . any guesses who? ::coughSamcough:: At least, I hope it's Sam. . .I haven't quite memorized his family tree yet. . . ": Teehee, Bookworm, neither have I! Thanks for the lovely review!

Kaewi: Thanks so much for the touching review, Kaewi! Am glad it didn't sound cheesy, that was actually a word I was desperately trying to avoid while writing it. "Perhaps that's something we may see again in a few chapters with Bilbo?": Frodo smiling again? Absolutely. It's actually going to be rather ironic what happens in the following chapters. Frodo, who has at long last been convinced that he was wrong (and seeing Bilbo again will only further prove this) begins to become the one who comforts Bilbo instead of the other way around. Or rather, they're going to comfort each other. But Frodo's now going to see what the last few weeks has done to his uncle, and the drive to get better is going to be fueled just as much by a desire to put it behind him as to ease some of the guilt off his uncle's back. I've just made Bilbo into a complete neurotic at this point. :)

Allyrien Chantel de Montreve: Your name sounds like some European monarch! I like it! And whatever happened to Val? Er, she's not going to pop up again, she was just a one-shot piece, but I'm thinking that she most likely came to her senses at her encounter with Frodo, and will find her way out of Bree.

Arwen Baggins: Hey Arwen! Thanks for the lovely review, glad you liked the little interlude. Couldn't get this chapter written for some reason, it was one of the harder chapters, so I just fit that one in instead. Glad it sufficed! How's Oma, btw?

Shlee Verde: Shlee! A joy to hear from you, as always! "More cute little scenes like this please": Will do! Over Christmas break I might end up going back and revising LOTS of this story, including making the opening chapter(s) less angsty, so we can have some more cute Bilbo/Frodo before everything goes to Hell. And you're right, I wonder myself why Bilbo Baggins waited so long to adopt Frodo, though it's never mentioned in the book. Hmm, perhaps they didn't know each other until after Frodo's parents died. It's fun to make up ideas, though. And the sequel. . . . (sigh) . . . I'm thinking up ideas. . . though this is most likely going to take me the rest of the year to finish at the rate I'm going. There's still sooo much I have to wrap up, it'll be another 10 chapters at least. More is to come. But I'll try and think of something! :)

Ailsa Joy: Hey Ailsa! Glad you liked the last chapter. "Oh, to be like that again would be wonderful:" Teehee. If all works well with my muse and I write it right, it will be. :)

Wanequelle: Thank you for the lovely review, Wanequelle. I'm sorry this took so long, I'll try to do better next time. :)

Endymion: Hey Endymion! Yess, 'Sophomore' is what I am. There's a bit more work involved than Freshman year, but ahh who of us isn't swamped with work nowadays (sigh). I'm glad the chapter wasn't too sweet or, as Kaewi phrased it above "cheesy" (shudder). If ever my story becomes something along the lines of trite and sentimental for the simple sake of sweetness, you let me know. (Thumbs up!)

Shire Hobbit: Thanks for the sweet review, Shire Hobbit! Your remark about "what their relationship is. . even if Bilbo lost sight of it momentarily. .' really actually helped me simplify it in a nutshell what the whole story's about, how just forgetting about the most important things even for a brief amount of time can really cause harm. Thanks for phrasing it so well, I tend to use tooo many words to say something articulated that clearly. :)

Ubiquitous Pitt: Gosh, I thought you'd left me! I thought the Tony Chattin grief was really getting to you. Glad I was mistaken. How be that latest piece, I might ask? (Sneaky grin) Ah! You've got a boyfriend (bows down, envious) I swear my college experience is wonderful with the exception that attending a virtually 'All Girls Catholic College' lacks the benefits of males that are so necessary. (Sigh). But anyway, glad things are going well, albeit busy! I hear ya on that one. And you're right, it was odd that Saradoc wanted to detain Frodo in Brandy Hall because of studies. True, Bilbo was the oddity because he read extensively, I was using it as more an excuse on Saradoc's part that he was reluctant to let Frodo leave for a few weeks. In his own way, he was looking out for the boy, thinking it wasn't a good idea to get too attached to a hobbit he knew liked to go off on his own (didn't want Frodo to become too attached, though it was already too late for that.) Glad to see you back, you were missed. And you're right about the last few chapters, they were rushes, which is why I'm intending to go back over EVERYTHING this Christmas break and fixing up a bunch of scenes, especially in the last few chapters, which I wrote out in a rush before college resumed. Take care!

Budgielover: Hey Budgie! Thanks for the delectable review! I myself must apologize, I'm so far behind on giving reviews recently. Know I am, as always, following your wonderful stories. 'Out of All Knowledge' is going wonderful (I'll drop you an official review soon, I promise!) and I'm already eager for 'Dangerous Folk,' whenever you have the time to get to that one! I'm glad you liked the latest chapter, that was kind of the feeling I wanted for it, to just have a free space of remembering better times before moving on to more recovery. "I hope Bilbo spoils our lad absolutely rotten. ." From this remark of yours stemmed a whole bunch of new ideas for scenes. Don't worry, if nothing else Bilbo's not gonna be letting Frodo out of the house anytime soon, and the poor lad will grow frustrated at his uncle's attentiveness. Maybe. Not sure yet. But definitely I promise better times are ahead. This chapter's one example, though I'm still hesitant as to whether it turned out believable or not. You let me know, your judgement's highly valued. :)

Chloe Amethyst: Hey Chloe! Thanks for the awesome review. But yes (sigh) looking back on my chapters, especially the last few, I feel as though there's a lot missing, or just not expressed right. I'm thinking I might change the opening chapter and expanding on it, so not to make it so angst from the beginning, and yes I know there are typos everywhere. Hopefully they will be resolved when I do expansive editing. :)

Obelia Medusa: (blushes) Wow, I've reached a plane on the Bilbo/Frodo sweetness meter, declared so by the Queen herself? Yay! That means I'm NOT the most sadistic abuser of the bilbo/frodo relationship around! (Dances about happily) I'm still waiting for your 'you-know-what' chapter to come! BellaMonte's so excited! (Picture BellaMonte dancing about in another gay circle. Yay!) Have a great Thanksgiving break!

ClaudiaofBree: (Bows head, tearfully) Claudia darling, you're driving me more mad in anticipating for chapter 2 of 'The Shire Slave' than of Return of the King at this point, and that's a fact. Your last few drabbles were lovely, though, mark my words your writing skill goes nowhere but up. But (begs again) I do wish the muse for 'The Shire Slave' returns soon! Thank you for the wonderful reviews, it's always an honor to hear from you!

WildFire203: Wow, Wildfire, you really blew me away with your review. That was truly touching. I know how you feel, I'm at the mercy of ClaudiaofBree right now (as you can observe above) I'm on my knees waiting for her to update again, I so love her stories. I hope this chapter suffices, sorry it took so long!

MoonMist: Thanks for becoming my 700th reviewer! Love ya lots!

Iorhael: Thanks for the kind words, Iorhael! "I'm so glad the lad finally felt peaceful": (sigh) yes, it's about time isn't it?

It seemed to take an age for Frodo to wake. Vague, gentle sensations like a breath of air or the faint touch of a hand would brush by him in his slumber, yet none were enough to call him back. Not just yet, and for a long time Frodo remained in a calm, protective state of nothingness.

When he finally did awaken, days later it seemed, he felt. . . better.

The exhaustion that had burned his eyes was gone, and as he shifted slightly beneath the covers he was surprised to find that the dreadful aches and pains in his back and sides had significantly eased. They still hurt of course, but not nearly as badly as before, and only when he moved. For a moment Frodo lay trying to remember the events of the previous night, but found his mind was fuzzy and whatever had happened seemed to have been left behind in sleep.

Rolling onto his side, Frodo looked up and was met by an unexpected ray of sunlight. Squinting, he waited for a moment before peering out behind his hand to see a bright blue sky right outside his window. A single billow of white cloud hung just at the edge of his view through the window frame, and he could hear the sweet, familiar chirping of birds from nearby.

Frodo's breath caught in his chest.

Sensing a presence in the room, Frodo turned around and his eyes flew open in astonishment. Merry sat in a rocking chair pulled beside his bed, rocking lazily back and forth. The surprise of seeing his cousin and the reminder of their last cold encounter was forgotten, however, in the shock as he took in the black eye and ugly bruises that marred Merry's grinning face.

"Good morning!" his cousin greeted him, brightly. The cheerfulness of his expression contrasted sharply with the bruises that colored his face, yet he retained a stubborn smile Frodo knew all to well that mean he wasn't intending to leave now that his cousin was awake, even if Frodo demanded it again.

"W-what happened?" Frodo spluttered.

"What happened?" Merry inquired. Brows raised, he looked down at himself as though expecting to find a stain on his vest. "Oh, nothing," he replied, shrugging carelessly. The stubborn smile refused to leave his face.

Frodo made a noise of disbelief, his features contorting into a hard frown in an attempt to hide the amusement that threatened to erupt out of him. "I can hardly buy that. Well, what happened? I. . . did you run into the end of a table or something?"

"Good guess," Merry said, feigning seriousness. "But no." When Frodo continued to stare at him, his expression caught between horror and confusion, Merry finally broke into a playful smile again and he laughed, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on the edge of the bed. "It's nothing important, Frodo. There was just this rotten neighbor that came by a few days ago and tried to pick a fight by insulting the Baggins name. Which," he added, wrinkling his nose, "Is pretty stupid now that I think of it, considering he's a Baggins too. Well, sort of."

"What?" Frodo exclaimed. He still couldn't tear his bewildered gaze from his cousin's black eye, which was now fully closed shut. Gritting his teeth, Frodo moved to prop himself up on his elbows so he could see better, surprised when it didn't hurt as much as before to sit up.

"Yes," Merry replied. "He was a pretty nasty character. Oh, but don't worry Frodo, I won," he added, pressing a cloth-wrapped bag of ice to his hand. "You should've seen what he looked like when I was done with him. I got both his eyes, and probably would've gotten him good with Bilbo cane, if he had let me."

"Well. . . .who was it?" Frodo asked. His insides began to turn at the thought that his younger cousin had fought someone, and for his sake. Again, Frodo felt a great flush of embarrassment creep into his cheeks. He never should have been so angry with his cousin, who had done nothing but apologize to him when he'd come. . .

"Oh, just some scum named Lotho Sackville-Baggins," Merry said, off-handedly, his face souring as he said the name.

"Sackville-Baggins," Frodo repeated, the name sounding oddly familiar to his ears.

"Yes. He was a real piece of dung, if you ask me. Sam told me his parents have bad blood with Uncle Bilbo, or something, and that's why Lotho came around to stir up trouble, he's taking on his parent's job. They were actually the ones who were supposed to inherit Bag End and all his treasure, if he hadn't adopted you and made you his heir."

"Sackville-Baggins," Frodo said again, his heart beginning to skip beats as recollection pieced itself back together to that very day, the day that he had been kidnapped, the day that he'd been so upset over Bilbo's adamant refusal to let him meet his relatives. . .

"Yes," Merry replied, grimly. "Ugh, Frodo, if there's one pair of relations to avoid making an acquaintance with, it's them. I only met the son, and apparently the parents are worse, if that's possible. They're awful."

For a moment Frodo stared mutely at his cousin. Sackville Bagginses. . . yes, that had been the name. Instantly, memory steered Frodo back to that day when he'd first delighted at hearing the name, convinced that that he would make a good impression on them if his uncle would only let him stay for the visit. . . but his uncle hadn't. . . for reasons he had only been able to speculate at the time. And he'd left Bag End so upset and angry, thinking his uncle hadn't wanted him there. . . and that had been true, he hadn't. . . but . .

Frodo suddenly groaned, pitching his face into the pillow as a tumult of rough laughter took hold of him.

'_Oh Elbereth. . . I am an idiot,' _he thought, the truth never before bringing such joy to his heart.

"Frodo? What's wrong?" Merry cried. Breaking away from the chair, the younger hobbit scrambled onto the bed and peered down at the dark, curly head buried in the pillow. He wasn't sure whether his cousin's shoulders were shaking out of sobs, or laughter, or both. "Frodo, what is it? Are you all right?"

"Mmm-hmm," came a muffled reply.

A bewildered smile came into Merry's face, and he sank down on the bed. He didn't know what he'd just said that had startled his cousin so, but the shock of his cousin laughing for whatever reason was making him shake in relief. It had been so long since he'd heard Frodo laugh, and for so long he'd feared he would never heard it again.

He grinned, mercifully. "C'mon, what's so funny?" he demanded, giving his cousin a careful poke in his armpit, knowing it to be Frodo's most ticklish spot. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Frodo said, lifting his head from his pillow and wiping his eyes. Turning, he was met by his cousin's face, bright and smiling. As he regarded the ugly black eye and cut along his cheek, Frodo was reminded of what Mrs. Gamgee had told him about what the last days had been like for his cousin, how sick with worry he had been and how much he had missed him. Frodo could still remember the pain that had shot through him when Merry had hugged him with such intensity. Somewhere in the haze of pain, he could recall Merry telling him how sorry he was, and how glad he was that he was safe. . .

"I'm sorry about earlier," Frodo said, softly.

His cousin frowned in confusion. "Sorry about what?"

"About earlier. . . telling you to leave and all. . ." Frodo paused, his words of rebuke still stinging in his memory, as they most surely were in his cousin's as well. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean it like – "

"What?" Merry bellowed, a wide grin in his face. "Stop. I deserved it. In fact," he added, and slid off the bed so that he was leaning off to the side. He drew his face closer, closing his good eye. "Hit me."

"_What?_" Frodo stammered, laughing despite himself.

"C'mon, I saved this eye for you. Go on," Merry replied. His cousin didn't comply. "Frodo please, just punch me," he persisted, his tone growing serious. "I've gone the last few weeks beating myself, and it would probably be better for everyone if you just did it."

"But why?" Frodo exclaimed. Though his cousin was being ridiculous, he was glad that his cousin's eyes remained closed, so he had time to wipe away the tears forming without notice.

"For everything," Merry ground out. "For snapping at you and then leaving. . .on that day, when I left and didn't tell Bilbo when you didn't come. . ." Voice trailing off, Merry snapped his eyes shut once more and flinched in preparation. "Go on. Hit me. I deserve it."

Frodo felt his face crumbling as he stared at his cousin. Not once had he ever seen such an unguarded display of guilt from Merry before. Usually he was more stubborn in his apologizes, and only he would ever know whether his cousin was laughing inside as he pled guilt for stealing extra rolls from dinner, or not. But the pain that leaked into his younger cousin's voice, even when Frodo could see he was trying to control it, and this silly attempt to earn Frodo's apology with another fist made him realize how deeply his cousin's guilt really went. His insides turned, and joy began to flood him without measure.

"Er. . . I think you've been thrashed enough," Frodo finally said, and gave his cousin a joking push.

Cautiously peeking his eye open, Merry saw the sincerity in his cousin's blue eyes and relief washed into his face. "So. . . we're all right now?" he asked, slowly.

Frodo smiled, hoping that was enough to convey to his cousin that he didn't really need to ask.. "I suppose," he answered.

Merry opened his mouth as though to say something, then paused, his brown eyes dancing with elation. "All right then. . . glad that's out of the way. Then.. . er, can I ask you a favor?"

"Depends, what is it?" Frodo asked, sitting himself up fully. His back strained a little in the effort, but quickly eased.

"Can I have a hug? I mean, without you telling me to leave the room?" Merry added quickly. His tone was comical, but his face brimmed with seriousness as he studied his cousin. "Please Frodo," he continued, before his older cousin even had the chance to answer. "I know you're still mad at me for what happened, and I understand. You should be, I don't blame you at all. But. . . please believe me when I say that I missed you so much. And for while I. . . we all thought that those bad men had killed you, and I – " Merry broke off to feel a tentative hand on his shoulder. Looking up from his ramble, he saw his cousin smiling and the answer was in his eyes.

Smiling gratefully, Merry moved forward and wrapped his arms around his dear cousin's frame. Frodo was relieved that he was a bit more gentle this time as he hugged him, but he could still feel the intensity of his cousin's hold. As soon as he was able to work his arms up from where Merry had them pinned to his sides, he returned the hug. Merry hugged him tighter, and Frodo felt ripples of relief continue to tumble through him. But there was guilt in his heart as well, in seeing how much grief his cousin had been put through. As the moments passed and Merry still didn't let go, Frodo truly began to understand how much his cousin really had suffered on his behalf.

After a while, Merry loosened his hold and pulled back, however reluctantly. Just like Frodo, he had never thought he would ever get the chance to say any of this to him, and he was so glad he had. As he studied his cousin, Merry was surprised to notice a sudden change in him. Little things that had been so different the last time he'd seen him, looking so out of place, were now gone. His frame was loose and relaxed, and there was a calmness in his eyes as though a great weigh had been removed from him, though Merry didn't know what. "I'm so glad you're back," he finally whispered.

Frodo smiled, wistfully, his blue eyes wandering a little. "So am I." A short silence passed. "So. . what have you been doing in these last. . ?" Frodo began, trailing off when he realized that he wasn't sure how long. . . .

"Two weeks," Merry provided, quietly.

"All right. . . well, what have you been doing in the last two weeks?" he asked, discreetly keeping the subject away from himself and all that he'd been up to. It probably wouldn't be so hard to tell a second time, but. . . well, he'd already talked about it. He didn't want to think about it right now.

"Not much," Merry said, with a shrug. Moving down from the bed, he collapsed back into the chair, propping his feet up on the bed. "We were looking for you just about the entire time."

"Yes. . . Mrs. Gamgee told me about the search." Frodo smiled wryly as he remembered something. "She said that half the Shire helped to look for me. . .is that true?"

"By the Shire, no, I think it was more than that!" Merry exclaimed. "Oh, it was, it was absolutely crazy around here," he said, nodding for emphasis at his cousin's look of disbelief. "There were so many hobbits searching, all coming and going from new places, and always trying to suggest new places to look. Would you believe it got so busy that Bilbo actually let me have the key to the pantry?" he asked, with a crooked grin.

Frodo choked in surprise, the idea of his uncle lending the biggest plunderer in Brandy Hall the key to his own pantry sounding too ridiculous for words. "Why did he do that?"

"Well, he didn't have much choice," Merry admitted. "There were so many hobbits coming and going, and Bilbo was busy helping with the search and tearing his hair out that he didn't have to time to prepare any meals. So he just let us dive in when we could."

Frodo nodded, not saying anything as he fidgeted with the bandage on his hand.

"Then I went back to Tuckborough for the last few days," Merry continued, eager as much as Frodo to avoid the painful details about finding the letter, Bilbo and the Gaffer coming back to Bag End the night of the first exchange without him. . . "Anyway, Tuckborough was much better than going home. Everyone there was really worried about you too. And I got to see Pippin again."

"Pippin?" Frodo asked, sitting up a little bit straighter, inwardly reveling at the lack of pain in his sides. "Isn't that our little cousin?" Merry nodded, mischievously. "We haven't seen him in a year or two, have we?"

"Mm-hmm. Uncle Paladin brought him last Yule when he was three, but he was being passed around by all our aunts at the time. I swear, Frodo, he's going to be better than both of us soon when it comes to sneaking about and stealing from Farmer Maggot's crops," Merry said, proudly. "I mean, you've got that devilishly innocent look and I had the clever tongue that got us out of difficult explanations, but he's so small and quiet, he literally moves through a room silent as a mouse. He'll be having us beat in no time!"

Frodo smiled, but his thoughts began to stray as he continued to listen to his cousin. Little things like this. . . his adventures sneaking about Buckland with Merry, complimenting each other on their particular strengths in the act of plundering. . . he had forgotten all these things. When he'd twisted around in his bonds that secured him to the chair, when he'd been dragged down the muddy street by Strasser, he hadn't been able to remember. He couldn't recall that triumphant day, not so long ago, when he and Merry had escaped from Farmer Maggot's dogs by climbing across a set of trees until they'd made it to the river. Hearing Merry speak of them now was helping to bring it all back, with the bittersweet reminder that it wasn't all that long ago they had done these things.

"Well, he sounds like a natural born sneak," Frodo said, once Merry was finished. "Though," he added, giving his cousin a slightly accusing look, "It looks as though you've been helping him along the way."

"Oh, he is, and yes he's had a bit of help from unnamed benefactors," Merry added, with a boastful air. "But I can't remember everything you taught me, so we're going to have to take you to see him soon. I'll bet he'd love for you to show him how to slip rolls into your shirt and – "

Suddenly, Merry paused and the both of them turned to see Bilbo enter the room. Frodo's heart started to pound. His hands instinctively clutching the blankets, completely unprepared for the sudden arrival for his uncle. He still hadn't talked to him since. . . well, since the last time when he'd shouted for him to go away, and even now his mind was jumbled with scattered ideas of what he could possibly say or do to let his uncle known he was sorry and he didn't know what he'd been saying.

Luckily, Bilbo was carrying a great heap of laundry in his arms so that he failed to him right away, as he crossed the room and dumped his burden onto a chair with an exhausted huff.

"There you are, uncle!" Merry called out, abruptly.

Both hobbits were a bit stunned at how fast their uncle whirled around, nearly reeling on his heels. A tumult of reactions came into his face all at once, contorting his expression into a painful grimace between shock and joy as he observed Merry in the room and Frodo. . . awake and sitting up. It took the older hobbit a moment to regain himself.

"Merry, you didn't wake him, did you?" Bilbo said, casting his eyes at Frodo, worriedly.

"No, I waited for him to wake," Merry said, throwing his hands up, innocently. "Didn't I, Frodo?" When Frodo nodded, Merry swivelled his head around to face him. "He hasn't let anyone disturb you all morning, even though it's past elevensies," he whispered with a grin. Frodo tried to smile back, but found his gaze traveling upwards. His throat constricted a little when he saw that his uncle's eyes were already upon him, assessing him critically as though not knowing whether or not to believe his younger nephew.

"C'mon over, uncle," Merry suddenly beckoned with a wave. "We were just talking about Pippin."

There was a moment of hesitation. Frodo saw it in the faint tremor that stirred in his uncle's frame, though it was so slight that Frodo was sure Merry could not have seen it, nor did his younger cousin understand what it meant. But Frodo did, and the lump hardened in his throat as his uncle searched his face for an indication as to whether or not he should, the sting of Frodo's previous recoil obviously still a heavy burden in his heart.

Frodo tried to muster a smile, but his lips only worked form a meek smile at best. His eyes dropped for a moment in frustration, not knowing what else he could do or whether or not his uncle could even understand what he was trying to do. But raising his eyes again uneasily, Frodo saw the glimmer of surprise that had come into his uncle's face. Though it was faint, and vanished the moment his eyes met Frodo's to be replaced with silent confusion and concern, Frodo saw it. The tense muscles in his throat loosened a little.

Tentatively, Bilbo approached, stopping at the edge of the bed. "You mean Peregrin Took?" he asked, returning to Merry's previous words.

"Yes," Merry said in response. "As I was just telling Frodo, he's going to have us beat soon for the master in thievery in the Shire. He's just turned four, and he's already successfully plundered nearly half the pantries in the Smial."

Bilbo sniffed, humorously. "I'm sure that Paladin will love to hear that," he said, rubbing his forehead with a weary hand. "His heir is being taught such lessons in foolishness by the future master of Buckland."

"Yes, I was thinking the same, uncle," Merry said with a grin. "But I'm not nearly as good as Frodo, for anything I learned I got from him. And Pippin needs to be taught from the best. We'll have to take Frodo to see him soon!"

Panic erupted all to quickly in the old hobbit's face at this suggestion, and his eyes darted back to Frodo.

"Umm. . . we'll see," he said with a short laugh. "He's got some recovering to do still."

"I am feeling better," Frodo admitted. It barely hurt sitting up, except for the fresh bruises on his sides, but even they were well on their way to healing. In fact, he could probably stand now if he tried. . . removing the pile of blankets over him, he tried to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. If nothing else, he still felt weak from not moving at all, a condition easily remedied if he just walked around a little.

His uncle was not of the same opinion.

"No Frodo, don't!" Breaking away from the edge of the bed, Bilbo instantly forgot his previous promise to himself to stay in the background and give Frodo the distance he had earlier desired, and gently but firmly pressed the tweenager back against the covers."Doctor Boffin doesn't want you to get up yet," he said, pulling the sheets back up to Frodo's chest. "He said you still need your rest."

"Oh come now uncle, he's not that weak!" Merry exclaimed, just as shocked as Frodo by his uncle's insistence that he stay in bed, especially now when Frodo was truly on the mend.

"It's not the doctor's orders for you to exhaust yourself by walking about just yet," Bilbo murmured. His voice was soft with concern as he tucked the last of the covers up to Frodo's chin.

"But he's done nothing but sleep for days now, uncle!" Merry exclaimed. "Besides," he added, unable to hold back the obvious. "You're the one who looks like he could use some sleep."

Both pairs of eyes suddenly fixed on the older hobbit, who was in the process of hiding a yawn. As Frodo glimpsed his uncle in the bright sunlight that, he couldn't help but agree. Dark circled beneath his uncle's tired eyes, and his chestnut curls were peppered with fresh gray, as Mrs. Gamgee had told him.

A hard lump rose in Frodo's throat, seeing the stark changes in his uncle's appearance. He hadn't really noticed it before, always refusing to meet his uncle's gaze, but now there was no avoiding it, even as his uncle brushed his nephew's words aside.

"Well, I did sleep," Bilbo replied, continuing to arrange the sheets about the bed. "Mrs. Gamgee happened to slip some of that drink we gave Frodo into my own tea last night, so I had my own share of rest as well."

Both Frodo and Merry couldn't help breaking into stifles of laughter. Oh, that was too much! Samwise's mother dropping some of the sedative drink into their uncle's own evening tea? For a moment Frodo was truly lost in mirth and had to clutch hi side a little as the laughter caused a still tender bruise to throb. Looking up, Frodo was prepared to say something when he was caught by his uncle's look of surprise and relief. It was a look so tender, and his uncle's face was so close to his that Frodo had to force himself not to look away, the lump in his throat growing harder and more difficult to swallow down.

It seemed to surprise his uncle further when he didn't look away, and taking the initiative he settled himself on the bed. "You've slept a long while," he said, patting the sheets thoughtfully."Would you like something to eat?"

"Yes, you missed first and second breakfast, Frodo,. What would you like? How about some apple tarts, or ginger?" Merry suggested, rocking forward in the chair.

"No, now that's not a proper breakfast," Bilbo commanded. "And besides," he added, giving his mischievous nephew a critical look, "that ginger had been well locked up in the cupboard last I'd seen it."

"Err. . .not anymore, uncle," Merry replied, grinning. "I've been back a day or two now, you see."

"Well, Frodo isn't supposed to have that, I'm sure he'd have something more wholesome in his stomach, right?" Bilbo asked, giving Frodo a sideways glance.

"Oh, hang what the doctor said. I'm sure he didn't miss cabbage stew so much as he missed ginger." Leaning out of the chair, Merry leaned forward Frodo and whispered in conspiracy, "Hold on Frodo, I'll be right back."

Before either hobbit could protest, the younger hobbit darted out the chair and scrambled out of the room.

A stiff, awkward silence engulfed the room, stilling both hobbits in place. While Merry's playful bantering had been distracting, his cheerful, light presence had certainly helped to restore a familiarity and comfort in the room. With his presence now removed, the tension that had previously barred the two hobbits from speaking and had lessened a bit with Merry there as an anchor was now shed, and they were on their own again.

It felt like a lifetime before one of them spoke, both their tongues caught at not knowing what to say.. . . what to say first, what to say at all. . .

"Umm, yes, how about something real to eat?" Bilbo finally asked, continuing to slowly fold the sheets he'd brought in from the laundry. "We're got practically the entire market stored in the kitchen. I can get you anything you'd like. . . how about some soup for starters?" Nervousness was visible in the lines in his face, though Frodo could see that he was doing his best to hide them with a forced smile.

"Umm, sure," Frodo said, chewing on the insides of his cheeks. More silence.

"Can I get you anything else? We have plenty more. We've got sweet potatoes, mushroom soup, anything you'd like."

His uncle's cajoling voice rung in Frodo's ears, guiding him back to an earlier time when his uncle's coaxing had been a daily task. He had always been persuading him to eat more than his stomach desired, still thinking that it had been Brandy Hall's upbringing that had made him so thin instead of his own small appetite. It felt so strange, so comforting to hear again, but there was still a slight nervousness to his uncle's voice that made Frodo uneasy. Though he couldn't blame him . . he didn't really know what to say either.

"No, soup is fine. I'm still pretty stuffed from dinner last night," he said, glancing up for a second to meet his uncle's gaze. "Thank you," he added, softly.

For a few moments neither spoke. Bilbo continued to fold the sheets, and Frodo fiddled with the cloth bandage on his hand, looking up every once in a while to see his uncle slowly, hesitantly fold the fresh clothes.

"Did –"his uncle began, then paused shortly. Raising his eyes from his quilt, Frodo saw that his uncle's expression had suddenly turned grave, as though he could no longer continue with the small talk. "Did they feed you there?"

Frodo visibly tensed, unable to hide the shock that his uncle had actually asked him that. He knew that it would be coming eventually, and he could see it in his eyes, in everybody's. They were all horrified at how sick and awful he must look, and yet no one with the exception of Mrs. Gamgee and Merry had dared question him about it until now.

Frodo saw that Bilbo had stopped folding the sheets and was searching his face. Frodo could feel himself crumbling slightly under the look, and his eyes quickly fell back to tracing the lines of the patched quilt atop him. He knew he couldn't lie when the bandages on his hand and arm, and the looseness of his nightshirt on his frame, but he still didn't want to admit how frail he was.

"I. . .no, not really," he finally admitted, fiddling with the bandage on his hand. "Just. . . just bread and some other things." He sniffed, adding, "And I thought I'd never miss Aunt Pimpernel's stew."

That brought a slight smile to his uncle, and after a moment he slowly approached, sitting down beside him on the bed.

"How's the arm?" he asked, softly. Lifting a hand, he carefully traced the bandage that circled his upper arm.

"It's feeling better," Frodo answered, and this time no reassurance was needed. Earlier, he'd been able to prop himself up with minimal effort and now full feeling was back so that he could move it again. He flexed it in response. "It's still a little sore," he said, cringing slightly. "I have to get the stitches out, right?"

His uncle nodded. "Yes, tomorrow. And. . the doctor wanted me to ask. . . if you want to be put to sleep when we take the stitches out, he can do that. It's really not that painful having them removed, but you shouldn't have to suffer anymore. . . "

Frodo shrugged. "I guess it'll be all right. I mean, I've had stitches before."

"Oh yes, you were here," Bilbo said, recollection dawning on him. He laughed, grimly. "Yes, you tripped and fell down the steps of Bag End, and cut your knee. . . your parents didn't want to ever bring you back here again," he added, continuing to fold the sheets more times than were needed. Though the memory sparked a strange recrimination in his uncle's eyes, Frodo couldn't help but smile at the memory. After all, his parents had been joking when they'd said that, knowing it had been his fault when he went against his and uncle's warning not to leap down the front steps two at a time.

"But they did," Frodo said, sensing the need to remind his uncle.

"And the mess I made of it," he muttered.

Frodo started in alarm, sorrow leaking into his face as he saw just a glimmer of the heavy guilt his uncle carried. Mrs. Gamgee had warned him about it, but. . .

"Uncle – "

"I'm sorry, Frodo, I shouldn't have said that," Bilbo said quickly before Frodo could really get the word out. Expelling a heavy breath, he turned so that he was completely facing the tweenager, his face contorted with suppressed emotion. "But. . there's something I have to say. I know I already told you this but I have to say it again. I need you to heard it. . . to understand."

Frodo closed his eyes, a swift, lightheaded feeling suffusing his senses under the weight of weight of his uncle's words. He swayed slightly. Instantly, he felt Bilbo's warm hands supporting his shoulders, steadying him in place, and he tried to protest past the hard lump in his throat. After everything, he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear this or even deserved to. . .but he couldn't find the words to say it.

Bilbo waited a moment for Frodo to collect himself before speaking.

"I'm sorry, Frodo," Bilbo said, his voice just barely above a whisper. "I. . I can't say enough how sorry I am that this happened to you. . . that I let something like this happen to you." The hard lines in Bilbo's face contorted as his eyes traveled over the lad sadly. "You've already been through so much in your life, and I still can't understand what fate chose for you to have to go through this as well. . ."

"Bilbo," Frodo started, afraid to look up, "Please, I –"

"Frodo, please, let me say this." His uncle's voice was insistent, but gentle. "I know you're angry with me, Frodo. And you should be. This was my fault. . . in more ways than I can express. I can't say that I could have anticipated this happening. In adopting you, I had never dreamed that I would be putting you in danger such as I did. . .being kidnapped and taken away from home. . . I can't imagine what a terrible shock it must have been to you, or how. . . horrible those men were." Bilbo paused to clear his throat, also to muster control of his voice again, which had begun to leak with emotion. "Frodo, I can't tell you enough how much I blame myself for this, and how much I have to make up for, to you." In saying this, his hand lingered on the bandage that circled Frodo's arm. "I never. . . never should have let you go off alone that day," he said, shaking his head in painful recrimination. "In fact, not a single day should I have paid so little attention to you, not knowing what terrible thing might happen. And I know how much you love to explore and go off on your own. . . .and I let you do that. But I shouldn't have. In adopting you, it became my responsibility to keep you safe at all costs. It is my obligation to look after you. . .and . . ."

His uncle's hands suddenly moved to support his shoulders again, and only then did Frodo realize that he was shaking. He could feel the weight of his uncle's penetrating gaze, but he didn't dare lift his chin from where it lay buried in his chest, his face shielded by the bangs that fell in his face. His uncle didn't speak for a moment, no doubt wishing that he would look up and make some acknowledgment to what he was saying. But he couldn't help it. . . here were the words that he had never expected to hear from his great, proud uncle, and to hear them now after everything, he found his own words dissolving in the tears that he rapidly attempted to blink back.

"Well, in adopting you, Frodo, that was my duty and my honor to you," Bilbo resumed, his voice thick. "And I didn't. I didn't keep you safe, and I didn't look out for you as I should've. . that last day especially. But even before, I know I wasn't being the guardian that I was supposed to be, that I know you wanted me to be. And that. . .that put you in further danger, danger that might've been avoided." His voice cracked a little. "For that, I won't ever ask you to forgive me for this. . . for what I've put you through."

A moment of silence elapsed before Frodo realized that his uncle was waiting for his response. Swallowing painfully, he slowly craned his head up and was met by soft, shining eyes.

"I know that you talked to Mrs. Gamgee a few nights ago," Bilbo said, gazing at him. "I don't know how much she told you about what happened when you were gone, but. . .there were a few days there where I'd thought that I'd lost you forever." The hold on Frodo's shoulder tightened. "And I can't let that happen again. . ." he paused, putting supreme effort into controlling his voice. "Which is why I thought it be easer, safer, if you went back to Brandy Hall."

Frodo's shoulder stiffened slightly at hearing this, and he knew his uncle must've seen it.

"Frodo, I think you've come to a misunderstanding about what I meant when I told you that," his uncle continued, quickly. "I didn't mean it as my not wanting you here with me. . .far from it, my boy. . .it was because I thought that you'd be safer there. After all, it was because of my adopting you that those bad men kidnapped you. They knew that you were dear enough to me that I would pay my entire estate to get you back. And also. . .you were so sick when we finally rescued you," he said, sorrow finally breaking through the firm, controlled tone that he'd managed to keep up until this point. "You didn't see the chaos about here, after I finally got you back. Everyone was so scared and confused, for themselves as well as far you, not knowing if this were to happen again, or if someone might try and steal you again. And I could never let that happen. I. . . do you understand what I mean?" he asked, anxiously, wanting desperately to explain to Frodo the reasons why he'd ever told him such a thing.

Frodo nodded.

"I hope," Bilbo added, giving his arm a careful squeeze, "You didn't think it was because I didn't want you here."

Frodo's breath hitched a little, and he hoped his uncle didn't notice it. Raising his eyes again, he saw that his uncle was searching his face. Frodo dropped his eyes again. The action seeming foolish at this point, but he feared that every moment he might do or say something that would give everything away. Oh, if his uncle only knew what he had thought. . ..

"I. . . I didn't know," he said, his voice thick from disuse. "I. . . I didn't want to leave."

Frodo cringed, regretting that confession immediately after saying it. He already knew what lengths his uncle had gone to make him safe, only to be burdened with more guilt now. . .

Bilbo's face peered down to meet his, the hold on his shoulder just firm enough to prevent him from looking away.

"And I don't want you to leave," Bilbo murmured, gazing at him in earnest. "Believe me Frodo, that's the last thing I want. I. ." Bilbo stopped and sighed shortly. As Frodo watched his uncle's brows knot in frustration, he realized with bewilderment that for one of the first times his uncle seemed unable to articulate what he was saying. Even as he resumed again, his words came out short and stagnant. "I can't. . . I can't tell you how hard it was. Not having you here, knowing what terrible danger you were in, what you might be suffering, . . .I don't want you to leave either, my boy. And besides," he added, looking up, light coming back into his eyes "I wasn't intending for it to be permanent. Your going back to Brandy Hall, I mean."

"Well then. . . .where?" Frodo asked, frowning uncertainly. Where else was there he could go?

"Well. . . I had considered taking to you to Rivendell, perhaps," his uncle replied. "Remember that place where I told you the elves lived?" The old hobbit's face brightened a little as he saw astonishment come into his nephew's great blue eyes. "There's no safer haven in Middle Earth than Rivendell. And that's where I intend to keep you, my boy, somewhere safe, where darkness can't get you again."

"Rivendell. . . really?" Frodo gasped, the memories of his uncle's tales still vivid in his mind. He recalled his uncle telling him on several occasions about the beautiful waterfalls that fell, and the tall, graceful elves that made their home there.

"Yes, I see you remember," Bilbo said, his mouth curving in a smile to see recollection brighten the lad's eyes. "That was where I became acquainted with Lord Elrond, the leader of the elves in our particular realm of Middle Earth. . . well, you remember, I've told you. That was one consideration I had to where to take you. But it's really not my decision, Frodo. It's up to you to decide where you want to stay, where you think you'd be safest," he said, absently smoothing the covers. "And really, don't even think about it right now. You're still weak, and it will be several weeks before you'll be going anywhere. But. . just know," he said, his eyes soft and sincere. "This is your home, Frodo. As my adopted heir, Bag End is just as much my home as yours, and I don't want you to leave me. But. ." for a moment he paused, and swallowed before continuing. "If you don't. . . I mean, if you don't feel safe here, after what happened. . . .whatever you decide, I'll understand."

Frodo nodded, quickly.

Bilbo forced a smile into his face, and decided that it was best to leave it at that, at least for now. He knew he'd made the lad more than a little uncomfortable with everything that he had said to him, yet he couldn't blame him for not wanting to speak himself just yet.

"Now, let me get you something to eat," he declared, his voice brightening a little. "I've got some freshly made pea soup in the kitchen, and I'm sure it's just cool enough now to eat. How about I bring you some of that and some toast?"

Frodo nodded in agreement. He had to admit that whatever was in the tea he'd drank the night before had not only helped him to sleep, but made him wake with a quickly growing hunger. In response, he heard his stomach make a loud, gurgling sound. His uncle sniffed, humorously.

"Good. . . well, then I'll go fix you some. Just stay here, and I'll be right back."

"W. . .wait," Frodo said, as his uncle began to stand.

Immediately the old hobbit stilled, sinking back down and staring at his nephew with assessing eyes. Frodo opened his mouth for a moment, then closed it, still trying to work through the tumult of emotions that were swimming in him so that he could utter something of an apology close to what his uncle had just given him. But he found that he couldn't say it, nor could he barely start to explain everything, let alone what had happened that finally made him realize how wrong he'd been. . . the whole time. . .

"I. . "he began, stopping shortly when he realized with a blow that this was NOT the time to say it anyway, not when his uncle was already so worried. He couldn't possibly tell him. . . .

"What is it, Frodo?" Bilbo asked. His voice was softer than before, and the concern in his voice was so deliberate and tender that the lump in Frodo's throat grew so thick that it closed off his speech. For a moment he had to stop, swallowing down the water his uncle offered him at seeing him struggling to speak before continuing.

"How. . . how did you do it?" he asked, latching onto the first question that came to him. "How did you. . .save me?"

His uncle stared at him in confusion, perhaps knowing that he wasn't intending to say that originally. Soon the lines of confusion in his face lifted in understanding. "I was just wondering. . . I how did you save me? No one seems to know. . . "

Bilbo looked away for a second, and one of his hands absently moved to the pocket of his vest.

"Um, care to hear a story lad?"

The corners of the tweenager's mouth lifted slightly. "Sure."

"Well. . . I know I've told you much of my adventures, Frodo. But much of it has been random, and rather out of order, wouldn't you say? I haven't ever told you the story. . . in full."

Frodo stared at his uncle, inquisitively.

"Well it's true," his uncle answered, smiling. "In your earliest years, you always insisted on being told the same tales. I remember the first I told you was about the trolls, and after that you would hear nothing else. Oh yes, it's true. I would say, "But wouldn't you care to hear about the dragon, my lad, or how I met Gandalf, the bothersome wizard who came knocking on my door to solicit me for this adventure?" as I bounced you on my lap. But no, you'd shake your head with a pout, and say "Trolls. Tell troll story," and that would be that."

Bilbo's face took on a faraway look as he fondly recalled taking the boy's small, pudgy hands in his as he bounced him on his lap, just a wee child he was then. Settling the lad on his shoulder once more, he would recount the tale again, always trying to think of fresh details to make the story a bit more exciting for Frodo to hear.

"I always like that one," Frodo said, wryly.

Bilbo laughed. "Indeed you did. I think you were seven when you finally began asking about some of my other stories, and at your command I told you about Rivendell, my first being dragged by Gandalf and the dwarves and many others. You've heard many of them. But. . . many of the other parts actually have gone unmentioned." In saying this, Bilbo was thinking of the spiders, one particular story that he had deliberately not mentioned, for he had not wanted to frighten the lad. Even parts of his tale with Smaug, and the war that followed it, he'd saved for later. And some stories, including his account with Gollum and the ring had never been told. Only once or twice had Frodo ever asked to be told the adventure from beginning till end. Yet even with the lad's attention span, Bilbo had never made to the part with the goblins, and the riddles in the dark before the lad had fallen asleep or something had interrupted the tale.

Taking a breath, Bilbo went into it. He began with the goblin attack (a tale that had been referenced to before but next explained in full) and then continued with his flopping up and down on Dori's back, right until he was accidentally thrown off, bumped his head on a rock, and knew nothing more.

"I know not how long I lay there in the dark, but when I came to myself I found it to be quiet, and all my companions were gone. Naturally, I was frightened, and imagined myself never finding my way out of there again. But it's strange. . . while I lay, fumbling on the ground in that tight spot, I happened to come across a certain trinket that truly changed my fortune in the course of my tale.. . .and it also aided me in saving you."

His nephew staring at him inquisitively, Bilbo fumbled in his vest pocket and pulled out his ring. Holding it in the palm of his hand, he held it out for Frodo to see.

"A ring?" Frodo asked, uncertainly.

Bilbo smiled, humorously. "Yes, my lad. It doesn't look like much, does it?" Frodo nodded. "Well, that is what I assumed when I picked it up. And yet I dropped it in my pocket, and continued on. In my wandering and stumbling in the dark, I eventually came upon a strange creature named Gollum. . ."

Again, Bilbo dove into his encounter with Gollum. . . the absurd riddle asking . . .Gollum's strange, hissing voice and his habit of speaking to himself. . .the sneaky creature weeping over losing his 'precious'. . . Bilbo's placing the ring on his own finger, and understanding its great power of invisibility.

"But. . . how is that possible?" Frodo breath, his blue eyes wide with astonishment, darting from Bilbo to the ring still resting in his hand. "I never knew such magic existed. . .or that you had it!"

Bilbo smiled, placing the ring back in his pocket. "Indeed, Frodo, it is truly a thing of wonder."

"But who made it? Where did it come from?"

"I cannot say, my boy, for I know not. Nor did the dwarves, when it came time to tell them."

"But how come you never told me about it before?" Frodo asked, curiously. "Why, you could've used it for so many useful things! Slipping away from the Boffins, or – "

"Oh, I assure you my boy I've hid from many unpleasantries thanks to this ring.," Bilbo replied. "But more importantly than any narrow escapes I've made from pesky neighbors, it helped me to save you."

"How?" Frodo asked, becoming conscious of the fact that he was clutching the sheets with both hands and his heart was racing at the suspense of the tale.

"Well, just a few days ago, your second letter came," Bilbo said, pensively. He paused, peering into his nephew's face for recollection.

"Oh. . yes," Frodo said, chewing on his lip.

"I still have it," Bilbo said, fumbling in his pocket and unfolding the envelope.

Frodo's eyes widened painfully, and he paled as his eyes fell upon a piece of paper he'd never expected to see again. It looked different. It was marred by filth from the journey, and there were smudges on it, as though it had been held repeatedly. His writing was scarcely his own.

As he continued to look at it, Frodo felt his insides twist violently, and he felt himself taken back to that very moment. He remember the hot anger that had been burning in him as he'd written it, Tony's cold knife at his throat the entire time. . .

Bilbo saw the storm of emotion in his nephew's face, and he quickly resumed, folding the letter back up. He hadn't meant to upset the lad by showing him the letter, but he realized now that it was probably not something he wanted to see.

"Well, at receiving this I knew there was no way to work out an amiable agreement with those foes. Yet I knew I had to find some way to get you back. And then I remembered my ring. The very ring that had helped me to escape Gollum, and so many other monsters in the past. I realized what necessity there was in using it now. And so that night I went to the forest where they had instructed, and I waited in the brush for them to come. And come they did."

"And. . . and you put on the ring and got me away?" Frodo anticipated, wringing the edge of the blanket in his hands.

His uncle raised his hand, giving him a knowing smile. "Not so fast, lad. It wasn't as simple as that. For one, the two

ruffians seemed to be in a dispute of some kind, for as I approached I found them engaged in a fight. I know not what was fueling their anger, but their furies rose to such a point that they eventually turned on each other. A great chance of luck it was for me, really. As they began to fight, they dropped out of sight for a moment and that gave me the time to gather you up and make a mad dash down the hill."

As he listened, Frodo was only partially aware of how large his eyes had widened into saucers, his mouth slightly open. His mind was spinning as he took in his uncle's story, digesting all that had been happening when he had been gone, all that he had not known. Not just about Bilbo, but Tony and Strasser as well. All too clearly he could remember their arguing, over him especially. To know now that they had actually turned on each other. . . and his uncle had been there to witness it. . . and his uncle had saved him. . .

"Well, what happened?" Frodo asked, desperate to hear the rest. "Did they follow?"

"They did," Bilbo admitted, his voice turning grave. "And despite the power my ring holds, it only shrouds one in invisibility. I was still invisible as I dashed down the hill with you in my arms. . . but you were not. And there was no time to hide, or to make any decision save one, really. Once I got to the bottom of the hill, I laid you down under some brush so that I would be able to find you. . .and I put the ring on your own finger."

"But uncle. . . what?" he stammered, staring at his uncle in disbelief. "What if you'd been hurt?"

Dizziness assailed Frodo as he watched his uncle press a hand to his own arm, wincing slightly. Oh no. . . his uncle had shrouded him, while leaving himself to those two terrible men? Frodo swallowed back bile, just thinking what could've happened. . .if his uncle had been hurt. All this time when he'd thought back on waking up in the forest with Bilbo, he hadn't considered what his uncle had faced in getting him back.

Frodo felt his head fall with the weight of his uncle's sacrifice. "But uncle, you could've. . ."

"It was a risk worth taking," his uncle replied, clearing his throat. "And you were safe from them, which was the most important thing."

"Did you have to fight them?" Frodo whispered.

"One of them. It happened that the two of them fought so much, that one of them ended up killing the other."

Blood drained from Frodo's face, and he lifted his head in disbelief. For a moment he just stared at his uncle. "Which one?" he asked, quietly.

"I. . I knew not their names, lad. The one that was taller, and had hair all about his face. He killed the other."

Tony. Frodo nodded, his eyes clouding in the bewilderment of all he had not known.

"And the other one has been captured, my boy," Bilbo said, quickly. "Both are gone. Forever. In a twist I myself did not expect, rangers from Bree who had been helping to look for you arrived, and captured the other. He was overtaken by them, and has since been removed from the Shire to be punished according to the laws of men, which is no doubt harsher than anything we hobbit folk inflict. And it was then, after they took him away that I was finally free to go to you. And that's when you woke, and we took you home."

"I. ." Frodo was at a loss for words. He was overwhelmed by all that had happened in his absence, all that he had not known before. "I . . . I didn't know," he said, his eyes tracing his bed sheets in frustration. "I don't remember any of that happening. ."

"Of course not," his uncle murmured. His voice was suddenly very soft and gentle again, and Frodo felt the uneasiness return as he became aware of his uncle's worried eyes traveling over the bruises he knew were still visible on his face. "You were so sick when I found you. And . . .for my part, I am glad that you were spared those last hours. That you don't remember anything. I . . I can't imagine how horrible it must've been," he said, his hand cupping Frodo's bandaged hand. "I hope that in time you'll tell me. . . but you don't need to now, not if you're not ready. Know that right now, all we want is for you to get better."

Frodo nodded in understanding.

Bilbo sighed. "Well, I'm sure you're practically starving at this point. Is there anything I can get you before I head into the kitchen."

Frodo paused for a moment as he pondered something, then looked up with a small smile. "Um. . yes. Can. . can I see?" he asked, gesturing to the pocket where he had seen Bilbo place the ring. "Can I see what happens when you put it on?"

Bilbo fished out the ring from his pocket with a grin. "Well, it doesn't work in any special way," he replied, standing up and walking to the other end of the room. "You just put it on, as you would any other ring," he said. In saying this, Bilbo held out the ring for imitation and then placed it on his finger before Frodo. . . then vanished.

Frodo gasped, blinking in astonishment to see the side wall and chair, which had just been blocked from sight by his uncle's shape. By the Shire, his uncle's ring really could turn him invisible! But how was that possible, how could such a magical thing exist? It was unbelievable. . . and to think his uncle, whom he was sure had already told him his greatest of adventures, had kept it in his pocket all along. . .

"Uncle, what? Are you still there?" he called out, not sure whether his uncle could come back when he chose, or whether he gradually grew visible again. For a moment his eyes darted about the room, and then he smiled when he saw a book lifted slightly from his table, as though it were suspended in air.

Suddenly, he heard the light sounds of footsteps. Looking warily in the direction of the corner, he quickly resumed a feigned expression of sullenness just as his cousin ran back into the room.

"There you go, Frodo, there's all that's left of the stash," Merry said, panting. "Our sneaky uncle, he must've hidden it in a new spot after all. But don't worry, I'll go find more," he said. Turning to leave, he paused and traced the room with a frown. "Where did Bilbo go?"

Frodo fought to suppress a grin as his eyes instinctively darted to the corner. "Um, he's about Merry. He said he'd be back soon."

"Oh. Well, then he won't see this part of the stash," Merry said, with a bright grin. "I'll just stash it in the bookcase here and go look for the rest. I know that there was more than this still left in the pantry last I'd seen."

His cousin darted back out of the room just in time before Frodo burst into laughter. Soon after, Bilbo re-appeared again, and without a word dropped the ring in his pocket and went about taking the ginger from its supposed hiding spot. "How about we get you the soup and then you can have some of this?" he asked, suggestively. Frodo nodded, his face still bright and flushed from the effort of keeping his laughter contained when Merry burst in. Warmth spread into the older hobbit's face, the relief at seeing his nephew like that more wonderful than he could express. "You stay here and rest," he said, and passed out of the room.

Frodo watched him go, and as he was left alone he became aware of the amazing lightness he felt. It was so strange, after all the confusion and pain that had consumed him, now he and Merry were all right and again. And his uncle Bilbo. . .

The sudden sounds of chirping caught Frodo's attention, and he turned to see a little blue bird just on the inside of his window. It rested a moment, flittering its pointed beak this way and that in a quick motion before flying out into the morning air.

Frodo smiled as he watched it go, but the view of the blue sky felt limited now. Throwing his blankets aside, Frodo worked his legs up and crawled over to the edge of the bed, where he could see the Shire from outside his window.

It was beautiful. As it always had been. The sky was shining brightly over the green, sweeping hills, and the trees were swaying slightly in the breeze.

Frodo sighed, silently. He remembered the joy he had felt when he had first awoken in the Shire again before the first exchange. No matter what had happened to him, he couldn't forget that the Shire was still here, unchanged, just as beautiful and peaceful as it had always been. Now that he was back, he felt his heart slowly settling back into that warm reminder. He was home. His uncle had saved him, and he wanted him to stay.

Voices suddenly echoed down the hall. Turning towards the door, Frodo felt a sudden twinge of restlessness, fueled further from looking out at the Shire activity. As much comfort as his room gave him, he had been in here for days, and the desire seized him to see the rest of the hole again.

Chewing on his lip, Frodo began to contemplate what might be happening in the kitchen with his uncle and Merry. Soon he was disregarding his "should I take a peek down the hall?" with "could I?"

Edging to the end of the bed, Frodo dropped his feet and let his legs dangle over the side. Crawling to the end of the bed had made him realize that he wasn't as healed as he'd thought just sitting up. His hand still stung when he put pressure on it, and his arm was sore now that he was trying to use it again. But the bruises had definitely faded and pained much less, which gave him the hope that he wouldn't fall over if he tried to stand.

Tentatively, his feet met the wooden floor. It was cold. The familiarity encouraged him to put his weight down. Yet as he finally moved away from the bed a spell of weakness came over him and he quickly grabbed for the doorframe before stumbling.

It wasn't the best start, but he kept going. Keeping his hands close to the wall, Frodo was able to drag one tired leg in front of the other as he made his way down the hall. Emotion wracked him as he made his journey into the kitchen. By the Shire, it had been so long. As he peered into each room, he could see that things were much changed. Papers, books and other items were disheveled all about the hall (not just Bilbo's study, as was often the case). But it was still Bag End.

Passing down the hall, Frodo found that walking became a bit easier so that he didn't even need to hold onto something half way to the kitchen. He was certain that the weakness in his legs was more due to lack of movement than bruises, though they were there.

At long last, Frodo slowly made his way to the kitchen where he could hear the clatter of dishes and the voices of his uncle and Merry. Gripping onto the frame of the door, Frodo poked his head in and smiled. His uncle Saradoc and Doctor Boffin, recently arrived, were sitting at the table smoking while Bilbo attempted to block Merry from getting by, a new stash of ginger in his hands.

"Just a piece uncle, it won't hurt him!" Merry protested.

"No, Merry," Bilbo and the doctor both commanded at once.

"Gracious, Bilbo, why did you give him the key?" Saradoc admonished, taking a puff of smoke.

"Just a piece. .. Frodo!" Merry suddenly exclaimed. In his attempt to dart away , he caught sight of his pale, feeble cousin leaning against the wall, watching the struggle with obvious amusement.

"Frodo!" In an instant, Bilbo swept past Merry and steadied the young tweenager. "What are you doing?" he stammered, panic erupting in his face. "You're not supposed to be up, you could hurt yourself!"

"No, no please uncle I just wanted to – " Frodo halted in his protest, his uncle already steadying him and leading him slowly back to his room.

"You shouldn't be up and about, you're still weak."

"No, no, I'm all right uncle, really," he insisted, "I just wanted something to drink!"

TBC

Phew! That was looooong! No wonder it took so long! (Sorry everyone, I just couldn't come up with a suitable break for it to split into two chapters).

Last Christmas I recall posting "The Exchange part II" which didn't have a very pleasant ending, so hopefully this chapter makes up for it. :)

Next chapter should be posted within a week! Thank the Heavens for Christmas break, otherwise I'd never get genuine time to get writing in. And as always, (though it may not look like it considering the space between updates :) your kind words always help to fuel the fire of motivation!

Merry Christmas everyone! Thank you all for your kind words, they've made a wonderful Christmas present.


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